


Distance Traveled

by Mcguffan



Series: Where There was No Path [2]
Category: Arthurian Mythology, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-14 08:02:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 154,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3403013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mcguffan/pseuds/Mcguffan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur and Merlin work to bring magic to Camelot but the past weighs heavily upon them and there are still secrets yet to be revealed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story follows on the events of Three Steps Forward but it is not necessary to have read that story. 
> 
> This story devotes a lot of attention to the relationship between Arthur and Merlin as well as the relationships between them and other characters. This story is marked general but please be aware that it may be possible to give some of these relationships a romantic interpretation.
> 
> Feedback is appreciated

“I like the green one.” Merlin said as he and Gwen studied the two shirts that had been laid out across the bed.

“It’s a beautiful color for spring but the blue is simpler- more elegant.” Gwen replied as she brushed a hand down the sapphire fabric. “What do you think, Arthur? Spring green or elegant blue?”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with one of the red ones?” The King replied without particular interest. He was slouched at the table in front of his breakfast. His attention was reserved for the heavily buttered roll in front of him.

“If it were up to you then you would always choose one of the red ones.” Merlin said.

“It’s a good job it isn’t up to me then.” Arthur said absently, still focused on his breakfast. The Market wasn’t until tomorrow and he could allow himself a few minutes to enjoy his food without thinking about it.

“Upon reflection,” Gwen said unable to resist smiling at her husband. “You’re right, Merlin. The green is better. Spring. Renewal. A new beginning. All that.” There were subtle embellishments in gold at the cuffs and collar of the green shirt. Gwen decided that she would wear her gold dress and take a few hours before tomorrow to add some details to it in the same green as the shirt. Was it silly to think about matching outfits for an occasion like this? She suspected it might be. At the same time, Gwen decided, it was important to put on a good show and the gold and green would look lovely together.

Merlin picked up the blue shirt to return it to the wardrobe. On his way, he grabbed at one of the sausages on Arthur’s plate. Arthur made a show of trying to jab him with his fork but the sorcerer escaped with the sausage unscathed. 

Watching, Gwen smiled at the domesticity of the scene. Life was turning out very well- better than she had ever expected or even hoped. There had been no word of Morgana for months. Elyan was doing the family proud as a knight and he had started courting a very sensible young woman who Gwen liked and approved of. 

All of the kingdoms that had promised to send men or weapons to Camelot to join the organized effort against the Saxons had done so. Arthur was happily training them to work as a unit and hopes were high that by summer when the raids started the knights from the various kingdoms would be a formidable fighting force.

Most astonishing of all, tomorrow was Magic Market Day. As little as a year ago such an event would have been unthinkable. The open buying and selling of magical goods and services would have seemed ludicrous. Even in kingdoms without Camelot’s history, trade in magic was ignored when not actually frowned upon. If Camelot’s market were successful it would be a big step in the slow process of introducing the benefits of magic and magicians to the kingdom-- In a safe and controlled way, of course.

Magic Market day would not be happening at all if Merlin had not somehow found the courage to break his years’ long silence. Merlin had magic. Merlin had used his magic often unbeknownst to the rest of Camelot. Against her will, Gwen shivered. The misery that had followed in the wake of those revelations pulled at her. Suspicion and pain had covered both Arthur and Merlin in a darkness that had crippled both of them as well as those who cared for them. Gwen remembered acutely Merlin’s desperate sorrow and Arthur’s cold anger, fueled as it was by fear and hurt. 

With effort, Gwen shook herself free of those memories. All of that was over now- the worst of it anyway. Arthur and Merlin had come through that awful time and emerged on the other side with their destinies still intact. Gwen took a deep breath. She would not allow the sadness of that time to touch her now. Yes, life was very good and Gwen intended to bask in the present. Yet even as she resolved to do so, she found that she had not quite shed her sudden flash of anxiety. 

Was it not when things seemed at their most happy and hopeful that the worst calamities struck? The last time Gwen had felt this content, Morgana had sent Lancelot’s shade to wreck and twist her hope of happiness. Should she not be exceedingly frightened at the prospect of a bright and promising future? The old stories told how, whenever mere mortals came too close to happiness too often, the gods started throwing thunderbolts as a matter of principle. 

Suddenly, Gwen felt the fragility of their plans- it wouldn’t take much mucking about to undo so much of their hard won progress. The Saxon threat was being addressed but the united force Arthur was making was not truly united. Even when there wasn’t outright squabbling different customs and styles of fighting interfered with the group’s cohesion. Arthur held them together with the promise of victory against a universally hated invader and the strength of his own personality but it wouldn’t take much dissention to make them fracture. 

For all that the laws were changing, for all that the crown was making sincere efforts to reconcile the kingdom to magic there was still fear and mistrust on both sides. Tomorrow would be a test. Any violent incident at the Magic Market would undo months of hard work. Gwen felt dizzy suddenly and she squeezed her eyes closed to shut out all the possible disasters waiting for them.

Morgana could be anywhere, up to anything . . .

Gwen ordered her pounding heart to slow. When she opened her eyes, she felt better. Merlin had come back to the table and had draped himself over the chair next to Arthur’s. Gwen hadn’t been paying attention but they seemed to be talking about the morning’s training. Arthur liked to settle slowly into the day whenever circumstance allowed but he was becoming more fully awake. As they talked Merlin walked his fingers ‘itsy bitsy spider’ fashion toward Arthur’s plate.

Gwen knew Arthur was aware of the encroachment but he had this way of seeming not to notice that was so convincing that it was sometimes hard to distinguish from the real thing. There was only one sausage remaining. Arthur cut it- not quite- in half with his fork. Then he stretched elaborately, raising his arms above his head and looking up at the ceiling to extend his neck. When he returned to his plate- not quite- half the sausage was gone. Arthur didn’t seem to notice.

Gwen laughed and went over to put an arm around each of the men. She hugged them rather more tightly than she intended. “One more day,” she said easing her grip. “Until the Magic Market.” 

“I wish we could have found a better name for it.” Merlin said with a slight wince. He leaned into Gwen briefly but quickly disentangled himself to start setting out Arthur’s armor. There would be no training tomorrow as everyone’s time and energy would be taken up by magic market day so the King intended to train the allied knights into such a state of exhaustion as to make them incapable of causing any trouble. Arthur was rather looking forward to it.

“We’ll just call it market day if everything goes all right these first few times.” Arthur’s voice took on a slightly jaunty, rally-the-troops sort of tone. “And we have every reason to expect things to go well.”

Despite his slightly forced cheerfulness Arthur really did expect everything to go well. Camelot’s entire court had worked tirelessly for weeks to prepare for Magic market day. 

“Everything will go well tomorrow.” Arthur repeated and he fancied he managed slightly more conviction this time. Giving Gwen a kiss on the cheek, Arthur strode over to his armor. 

“In the meanwhile, there’s training to be done.” A morning of strenuous, cooperative-competitive exercise would take the edge off any slight residual worry that might try to creep in to Arthur’s optimism.  
*  
Stomping through the door to his chambers, Merlin at his heels, Arthur let out a loud breath and threw his gloves in the general direction of the table.

“Well, it was better than last week.” Merlin said with annoying cheerfulness.

“Not by much.” Arthur muttered rubbing at his forehead. It had been a bad practice. Silly mistakes had led to several minor injuries. The men had also seemed sluggish to Arthur. Shouting had helped but not as much as it sometimes did. Now Arthur needed to shout with more diplomacy than was his wont because despite their variable skill these men were knights by the standards of their own kingdoms and if he were too brutally honest then feelings would get hurt.

Merlin tutted and picked up the glove that had not made it to the table and put it beside its mate. 

“Most of the men do have potential.” Arthur relented after a moment. The kingdoms had sent him a motley assortment: ambitious second sons, hapless ne’er do wells, schemers, glory-hungry naïfs. There were even a few competent and sincere men who believed in the practical necessity of their endeavor tossed haphazardly in with a couple of truly hopeless cases that Arthur suspected might actually be a subtle attempt at sabotage. 

Despite the variety of talent and commitment, Arthur still felt that given time he could draw from this group several squads strong enough and fast enough to meet the Saxons before they could establish a beachhead. It would just take time and patience, neither of which Arthur had enough of at the moment. “But they’re hopeless working together. They don’t understand how much they don’t know.”

“I’m sure things will come together faster than you think.” Merlin soothed as he started in on the arduous task of extricating Arthur from his armor.

“Don’t humor me.” Arthur grumped.

“It’s all going to be a terrible disaster. The Saxons are going to ravage the coast while the allied knights fumble helplessly trying to figure out which end of the sword is which. Is that better?”

“Much. Thanks.” Arthur drawled. He rolled his eyes at Merlin but the side of his mouth quirked up.

“Leon certainly has the patience of a saint.” Arthur mused as Merlin worked the pieces of plate mail from Arthur neck and shoulder. “No matter how often he’s explained something he just explains it again. I don’t know how he puts up with all those stubborn egos.”

“Practice, I imagine.” Merlin said and swayed to the left so that Arthur’s knuckles just brushed his hair.

“Still, I wonder . . .” Arthur said as much to himself as to Merlin. “He never asks for anything which has tended to get him overlooked from time to time. Something to think about anyway . . .” Arthur ran a hand through his still sweat-damp hair. “But not until I figure out how to wean the contingent from Rheged off their heavy gear.” 

“Are they still insisting it’s the only proper way to fight?” Merlin asked. He liked to keep track of what went on during trainings. Physical combat, tactics, battle strategy weren’t things he had much aptitude for or, honestly, much intrinsic interest in but Arthur seemed to think best when he could do it out loud. 

“I know different customs and all that,” Arthur warmed quickly to the subject. Complaining about the men from Rheged had become such a familiar theme that there was comfort in rehearsing it now. “But, it’s a remarkably silly- not to say dangerous way to go about things. There are hardly any horses that can carry them and those that can can’t do so for long. They have no movement or maneuverability. They can’t swing their swords more than a dozen times before they exhaust themselves.”

“Still, they look impressive.” Merlin said to be contrary

“Oh, yes, very dashing. And that’s fine for tournaments or parades but in a battle there isn’t time to get a half dozen people together for an hour to get a man into suit. A warrior has to be able to take care of himself without needing to rely on an entourage.”

“You can see what’s in front of you, can’t you?” Merlin asked weaving left to right to see if Arthur’s eyes tracked his movement as he continued to unbuckle Arthur’s vambraces. “Because irony has just thrown up its hands and gone to bed early with a migraine.”

“In my defense it’s not as though you would let me leave you behind. I tried more than once as I recall.” In Arthur’s further defense, the King could arm himself without assistance if he needed to. It was harder to manage some of the more decorative accouterments but such things were not relevant in battle. “You, Merlin, you foster dependence.”

As the realization suddenly struck Merlin that this was the god’s honest truth he could only sigh. Arthur stopped and his eyes narrowed as the full import of what he had just said dawned on him. Merlin cringed inwardly, wishing desperately that he had not automatically seized on an opportunity to tease. He hated what he knew must be going through Arthur’s head right now.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t- That wasn’t a jab at your . . .” Arthur waved his hand but could not find the right word, ‘magic?’, ‘Secrets?’

“Of course not.” Merlin gave Arthur a smile he intended to be reassuring. 

“Of course not.” Arthur agreed. Silence followed. Merlin felt the awkwardness like a weight.

They were trying to be so careful with each other. The past was the past. Merlin knew Arthur hadn’t intended the comment as an accusation but he also knew that Arthur deeply resented what he saw as Merlin’s coddling. 

In the past, each man had hurt the other in different ways neither meaning to. But, all was forgiven. They had promised each other. Yet, there remained wounds- compounded by a sense of guilt and helplessness- that would not quickly heal. They each had sensitivities that they didn’t even realize were there until some seemingly meaningless word or event triggered a rush of pain. Each man was desperate not to hurt the other but this required them to be sensitive and open. It was a challenge because sensitivity came no easier to Arthur than openness came to Merlin. 

“Well, I suppose they are- the Reghed men- they’re better than they were when they first got here.” Arthur said looking to the side and scratching his ear. “And, and it is true that they do very well against melee weapons. They can stand up against a crossbow bolt sometimes.”

“Yes,” Merlin said eager to carry his part. “I expect they’ve adapted much better than you’ve realized. What with seeing them every day it’s probably hard to appreciate the change.”

Arthur nodded giving a small smile. But, he had retreated a bit from Merlin and he now shrugged out of his chain mail shirt without assistance. Merlin’s hands came up automatically but he let them fall a second later when Arthur took another step back from him.

Turning away, Arthur pulled his tunic off as well and went to the basin to wash away the worst of the sweat and dirt. Merlin turned away to assess the condition of Arthur’s armor. In the reflective metal he saw without meaning to Arthur press a towel to his face and neck then disappear behind the screen to dress. 

“Merlin?” 

At the sound of his name Merlin turned back. Fully dressed now, Arthur tossed the towel to the side but there were still beads of water clinging to the ends of his hair. Merlin fought the urge to wipe away the drops and instead simply retrieved the towel and hung it to dry properly. “Hm?”

“Would you let Gwen know I’m hearing petitions for the rest of the afternoon? She is probably busy but she is welcome to join me if her schedule allows.”

“All right.” Merlin blinked a few times. He had understood that what Arthur was really asking for was some time alone. Arthur almost never asked for time alone.

“Thanks.” Arthur said with a smile. “I’ll see you in a little bit then?”

“Yes, Sire.”  
*  
As Merlin opened the door of the chamber to leave he almost ran into Edith who had just raised her hand to knock.

“Lord!” Startled, the woman took a hasty step back and put her hand to her chest.

“Sorry.” Merlin apologized as he recovered from his own surprise and moved forward to close the door behind him.

“No, excuse me.” Edith said with a small smile to acknowledge the awkwardness. “Is the King available now?”

“Is it urgent? He’s getting ready for court.” Merlin watched the two guardsmen on duty at either side of the King’s door. Their faces showed no reaction but they were clearly paying close attention.

“No, no. I can wait.”

Merlin made a small gesture to invite Edith to walk with him down the corridor and the Druid fell into step beside him.

As they walked Merlin snuck a glance at his companion. Edith, and her friend Edwin, had been in Camelot several months now. The two had committed a breach of protocol that had left them personae non gratae among many Druid communities and Arthur had been immensely pleased to offer them employment in Camelot. Thus far the arrangement had proved mutually satisfactory. 

Merlin, who was adept at unmasking liars, traitors and frauds of all varieties, had not been able to find anything to show that Edith and Edwin were anything but what they seemed. This should have pleased Merlin and it did. It was only that he had not expected how well Edith and Arthur would get along- not that they could be called friends or that there was anything suspicious in their interaction. It was just that they were comfortable working together. That was as it should be, of course, and Merlin took it as a good sign that Arthur willingly sought her counsel and treated her much the same way he would treat anyone offering expertise. But, Merlin also found himself somewhat confused. 

Arthur was still nervous of magic. He tried to be fair but he could not hide that it made him uncomfortable; that he didn’t enjoy being around it. Merlin understood this and was fully committed to doing whatever he could to ease Arthur’s concerns. He expected this to be a slow process that would include occasional setbacks but he wasn’t going to let that discourage him. Given all that, Merlin could not understand why Arthur and Edith should work together without any latent sense of tension. It embarrassed Merlin but he would have liked Edith better if Arthur liked her less.

It did not help Merlin and Edith’s relationship that Edith was somewhat nervous of Merlin. She knew that he was Emrys and- as with all Druids Merlin had thus far encountered- was perfectly willing to keep that a secret. It was amazing that Merlin’s identity could still be called a secret given the number of people in on it and yet somehow it was. Merlin was grateful for that. But, knowing Merlin’s identity made Edith shy around him, nervous- even twitchy. She could be inappropriately formal if she didn’t watch herself and Merlin’s general friendliness bewildered her. This depressed Merlin but he put his feelings aside. Edith and her companion had proved very useful and- as far as a thorough investigation had been able to reveal- loyal.

When they were far enough down the hall so that they could speak without being heard they paused. “How are things shaping up for tomorrow?” Merlin asked. Edith had been working diligently- as had they all- to prepare for Magic Market Day.

“Very well, I think.” Edith responded thoughtfully. “Sir Kay and I spent today with the vendors. I believe we impressed upon them how seriously we insist upon their compliance with the rules.”

Merlin smiled. It struck him that Kay and Edith together would make an uncannily intimidating pair. “That’s good. Hopefully, Arthur can stop biting his nails over it then. Magic has been traded in other kingdoms without the sky falling so maybe he can manage to relax a little. He’ll give himself a heart attack if he keeps obsessing over the details.”

“I believe the King’s concerns are entirely valid. There are so many reasons why this is different than what happens in other kingdoms, my lord.” Edith said stiffly

Merlin suppressed a sigh. Edith had misinterpreted him. Merlin took the Magic Market as seriously as it was possible to take it. He had been- not joking exactly, but maybe teasing Arthur a little- teasing with affection that also demonstrated genuine concern. He had been trying- and not for the first time- to create a sense of camaraderie with the Druid. He hoped that if she could see that he was really an ordinary person who could laugh and joke then Edith might be less anxious around him. They were on the same side after all. (Merlin was entitled to tease Arthur. It wasn’t real criticism! And, honestly, was she so blind that she couldn’t take that as read). In sharing the moment with Edith he had been trying to make her feel included.

“Yes, yes it is.” Merlin said wishing the woman would lighten up. As soon as he thought that though he retracted it. He knew Edith had trouble reading him. Even when he was at his most straightforward she sometimes acted as though he were speaking in riddles. He shouldn’t expect that she could automatically deduce his meaning. Just because she knew his secret didn’t mean she knew him. The shadow of Emrys had Edith understanding Merlin less rather than more.

The intensity with which Edith scrutinized Merlin’s expression was almost painful. Merlin imagined that she would have liked to pick him up, turn him over, hold him up to her ear and shake him a bit. Finally, the Druid nodded. “I came to tell the King that Kay and I spent extra time with Master Arietti in particular and we’re convinced he understands what is and what is not acceptable. We thought- I suppose I thought- Arthur worried about him especially. I thought he might want to know but maybe it’s a detail that isn’t worth bringing up?”

For a second Merlin didn’t recognize the name. Then he did. Unbidden, the memory played itself out before him:

Merlin had been sitting with Arthur, Gwen, Edith, Sir Kay and a few secretaries going over lists of the merchandise provided by the merchants who wished to sell their goods at the magic market. Somewhat unexpectedly Gawain was also helping. 

The knight was feeling bored and a trifle neglected with everyone’s attention taken up with the market or the allied knights. So, Gawain had volunteered to help the weary reviewers of inventory. He explained that his general worldliness would benefit them in deciding what sort of goods could be accepted. Merlin assumed that Gawain was really angling for an inside track on what was going to be on offer so that his conversation would be sought after at the tavern. But his motives didn’t matter to the work. The extra pair of eyes was welcome.

“Lookie what we’ve got here!” Gawain’s excited exclamation broke a long silence that had only been alleviated by the sound of shuffling paper. “This bloke’s got ‘Lion’s Roar- an elixir guaranteed to evoke powerful a passion in any man you desire’. And if that is too subtle for you how about the ‘Venus Blessing – Touch this charm to your lover’s forehead while they sleep and when they wake their heart will be forever bound to the first person they see.’

“Whose list is that?” Arthur demanded. “Wasn’t he given the rules?” 

Arthur had been in favor of banning outright any substance, object or incantation that had a greater effect upon the will or heart than perfume. After being plied by many arguments of both expediency and philosophy he had not noticeably retreated from this position. But, the merchants clamored and complained. Such things tended to make up the bulk of their trade. They advised that there was insatiable public demand and if there was not a legal means to obtain such goods people would resort to black markets. 

Long discussions followed and a list of rules was finally adopted that in the finest tradition of compromise gave no one everything he wanted. Arthur would now permit the weakest of libido enhancements and charms of attraction and the merchants would only sell spells or potions where the magical influence disappeared completely within a day. Even with these safeguards, Arthur remained deeply conflicted.

“Rudolphus Arietti.” Sir Kay answered pulling the paper out of Gawain’s hands. “He has only just applied for permission to import his goods. It is possible he has not yet had time to bring his stock into compliance. I will make sure to speak with him in the next few days.”

“Oh, come on, Arthur. Don’t be such a prude. What’s wrong with a little . . .” Gawain stole the paper back from Kay. ‘Green Arrow – Does your beloved’s heart stray? Extinguish his desire for your rivals. With one dose of this potion his love for the person whose name you speak three times will be die forever.’”

“Sire, I have every confidence that the claims made on behalf of these enchantments are exaggerated.” Edith contributed as she regarded Gawain with a stoic’s pity. Gawain gave her a wink.

“Is that supposed to be mitigation? The goods are fraudulent and therefore not contraband.” Arthur shot back.

Edith spread her hands in a placating gesture. “I only meant to reassure that magic of the power described here is not so common a thing that it can be made and sold for pennies.”

“Well, that’s a shame.” Gawain had not liked being ignored and so he plowed on. “Just because you’re enjoying wedded bliss doesn’t mean the rest of us don’t have needs.”

Arthur shot Gawain a disgusted look then rubbed at his forehead and along the bridge of his nose. “All right. I think that’s enough for now. Let’s break for an hour.”

Dutifully Edith, Sir Kay and the secretaries gathered up their papers and headed toward the door. “Come on Arthur, just a bit of ‘Lion’s Roar’. Even you might need some sometime . . .if ever there’s trouble in paradise . . . ” Gawain raised and lowered his eyebrows several times to put an exclamation point on his innuendo.

“Get out.” Arthur ordered more tired than angry. Gawain backed out of the room still working his eyebrows.

“I wish he wasn’t always trying to turn everything into a vulgar joke.” Gwen said a little sadly.

Arthur’s eye roved the table assessing the ballistic potential of the various objects on it. Deftly, Merlin reached over and moved the goblet out of range. Arthur scowled but forbore throwing the stack of papers, which was his only other options. 

“I think perhaps I should go speak with him.” Gwen rose from her chair and looked with brow furrowed to the door Gawain had just left through. 

“No, don’t. If Gawain gets the idea that I sent you or that I care at all there will never be an end to it.” Arthur reached a hand toward Gwen to keep her where she was.

“I’m sure that’s not true.” Gwen soothed taking Arthur’s hand. 

“No, you’re right.” Arthur sighed. “That’s not fair. He doesn’t mean any harm. It’s just that sometimes he reminds me of . . . . Well, it’s not important, better to let it go.”

“It’s worth a word.” Gwen argued. “He may not take himself seriously but others do. He needs to understand that people listen to what he says and not everyone takes it in the spirit he intends. Don’t worry I’ll be gentle.” Gwen leaned down to kiss the top of Arthur’s head before following Gawain with a determined stride.

When Gwen was gone Arthur squeezed his eyes shut and buried his head in his hands.

“You can still change your mind.” Merlin said softly. “You can cancel the whole thing.”

“No. I really can’t.” Arthur waved the suggestion away. “People will always trade in magic and this way we can try to keep the really dangerous stuff in check—and collect the tax revenue. This needs doing. It’s just- This is only the beginning.”

“We will keep it in check, Arthur. I know you’re uncomfortable with magic that influences people’s thoughts and feelings but there are degrees. We haven’t allowed any spells that are worse than alcohol. And with magic, there’s no hangover.” Merlin tried for the bright side.

“Uncomfortable?! Merlin, it’s mind control. It’s . . .” Arthur struggled for a word, a description that could do justice to his outrage. “It’s holding someone down and imposing your will upon their body, their heart and their mind without their consent- having destroyed their capacity to consent. It is so fundamentally wrong. And yet generally decent people act like it’s just a bit of harmless fun.” Arthur slammed his hand down on the table, his frustration overflowing.

Merlin remained quiet. He did not know how to offer comfort at times like this. The King was so focused on the potential evil. Merlin would do anything to help make it better- but Merlin could not promise there would never be evil consequences to magic. He couldn’t even promise there wouldn’t be accidents. All Merlin could promise was that he would give the entirety of his own magic in service to whatever world Arthur chose to make. But, Merlin knew that wasn’t the point right now.

“Vivian still writes me letters, did you know?” Arthur’s anger had given way to melancholy.

“I didn’t know. Do you answer them?” Merlin felt a stab of guilt. He hadn’t thought of Vivian in a long time.

“I didn’t, but after you told me about,” Arthur made a broad motion with the back of his hand. When he was upset ‘magic’ stopped being a word and became a gesture. “I told her what had happened and how she could try to help herself. You know, attend feasts, dances, tournaments, put herself out a bit. I mean, Vivian is a beautiful woman. Men fall in love with women just because they’re beautiful all the time, right? I told her if she could convince someone to love her then she could be free.”

“What did she say?”

“She said that I would have her be as cruel to others as I was to her.” Arthur bit the words out as though they hurt him.

“I’m sorry, Arthur. I am. But is that what’s bothering you the most?” Merlin had moved closer to Arthur but he refrained from touching him. In this frame of mind Arthur wouldn’t want it.

“I’ve said everything that I’m going to about that. It’s just something that happened. It can’t be helped. Try to let it go, Merlin, and I’ll do the same.”

Merlin closed his eyes. Arthur pitied Vivian and he felt guilty for escaping when she had not but the thing that drove Arthur into a panicked rage was not Vivian. It was the memory of what Merlin had done. Merlin had removed Arthur’s will. He had done it to keep Arthur safe. He had done it not realizing how such a thing would hurt Arthur. He had done it thoughtlessly in a moment of fear and desperation but he had done it. 

It was no good to argue that another man might consider the incident trivial. It was no good to say, everything worked out all right in the end. It didn’t help that Merlin had had the best of motives. To Arthur, losing his will, losing his mind was the sum of all his fears and a betrayal so profound that he could not have even conceived of such a thing being possible—until it happened. In his darker moods that one tiny incident that, in the scheme of things, Merlin had barely registered became a metaphor for his entire relationship with Merlin up until the point of Merlin’s revelation.

Now whenever Arthur saw someone compromised by magic, whenever he saw someone deliberately made vulnerable to suit the convenience of another, whenever he saw someone whose agency had been taken away, he remembered. And on the heels of the memory followed the memories of years of secrets and subtle manipulation. Then finally came self-disgust so deep it seemed to spoil everything.

If only Merlin could take it back . . . If only Merlin could convince Arthur really and truly that it would never happen again . . . that there were other- more benign- ways to interpret what had happened. But Merlin couldn’t take it back. 

They had talked about it once and in talking about it they had managed to resolve a great deal of what was wrong between them. After that Arthur had been able to let go of a lot of hurt and anger. Even so, every once in a while, it still troubled him. It troubled him, but Arthur couldn’t bring himself to talk about it again. Merlin still tried to draw it out though- whenever he could muster the courage. As much as it hurt them both, he hoped that if Arthur could eventually talk his way through it then the incident would lose the rest of its power. That was how it was with Arthur, the more he could talk about something the more control he had over it.

The silence lengthened and Merlin let it. 

“I asked Guinevere why she didn’t tell me about the Forma.” Arthur said finally.

“The Fomorroh?” Merlin asked wondering what path Arthur’s thoughts had taken to end here. Arthur waved his hand in agreement. “I’m sure Gaius convinced her that mentioning magic could only upset things and it was best to leave well enough alone.” Merlin had been on the receiving end of that sort of lecture more times than he could count.

“No. Or rather, yes. Gaius did talk to her but that wasn’t why she didn’t tell me.”

“What was her reason, then?” Merlin asked suddenly curious.

“She thought you would be ashamed.” Arthur stared glumly at nothing. “She thought that if I knew what Morgana had done to you, what she’d nearly made you do then you would feel guilty. She thought that you were afraid I’d look at you differently if I knew what had happened so she didn’t tell me.”

“I was all set to be angry with Guinevere for not telling me.” Arthur smiled sardonically. “But, in the end, I couldn’t manage it.”

After that Arthur picked up the next paper and went back to work. A minute later, Merlin did the same.

Shaking his head to dispel the memory, Merlin looked into Edith’s earnest gaze. “I honestly don’t know what would be best.” With that he excused himself and continued on his way. As he walked he felt her eyes following him.  
*  
Tracking down the Queen was not as easy as Merlin anticipated. She was not anywhere he expected her to be and Merlin found that he had to ask multiple times before he was finally able to zero in on her location in a seldom used wing of the castle. Gwen did not notice his approach so he wrapped politely on a nearby wall and called to her softly so as not to startle her, “My lady?”

When Gwen turned her attention to Merlin she gave him a big grin. “Hello, Merlin. What are you doing all the way out here?”

“Looking for you.” Merlin answered taking in the fact that there was a bucket on a table and that Gwen held a rag in one hand even as she smoothed the skirt of her gold stitched red velvet dress with the other. “What are you up to?”

Gwen’s grin grew bigger and she gestured for Merlin to come closer. “Look at this.”

At first Merlin didn’t realize what he was meant to be looking at and then it struck him. “The table? Is this the table from that old castle?”

“Mm hm. It has really cleaned up well.” Gwen said giving the surface a proprietorial pat with her rag. “It’s gorgeous.”

“I suppose so.” The dusty ruin Merlin remembered from several years ago had been transformed into a gleaming beauty. The polished wood surrounded inlays of enamel and the carved runes curved so sinuously that one could almost imagine they could move. “Why is it here?”

“Well,” Gwen ducked her head. “You recall how Arthur has been complaining about the allied knights and how they are all squabbling over questions of precedence?”

“Yes,” Merlin remembered very well. “He was going to have a round table made like this one. He said it was to make a point about equality and how they were all in this together but mostly I think he was tired of the yapping.”

“I thought it was a good idea- for a number of reasons, the yapping not the least.” Gwen smiled. “But, I thought it would be nice to use this one, the original. It was . . . special that night. I don’t know how the table managed to survive so long or its exact history but it was . . . I don’t know . . . right that it was there.”

“It’s too small.” Merlin didn’t want to diminish Gwen’s enthusiasm by pointing out the obvious but it seemed an insurmountable flaw.

“Well, I thought we could build a new one around the old one.” Gwen said blushing slightly. “I wasn’t sure at first because I didn’t know what condition the table was in and I remembered that it was in fairly bad shape but look how it’s turned out. Now I’m worried that it will outshine whatever we are able to build around it. I’ve never seen work like this before.”

“Has Arthur seen it yet?” Merlin asked as he let his fingers trail over the table’s surface. As he had been before, Merlin was drawn to a specific place at the table where a particular design was carved. The design called to him. It seemed to assure him that all was as it should be. 

“No. I made Elyan and Gawain bring it here without telling anyone. With so much activity it wasn’t difficult for them to disappear for a few days.” Gwen smiled self-deprecatingly. “In case it was a silly idea or the thing was too rickety to salvage. Now I want it to be a surprise- not that I trust Arthur to recognize it.” She finished with a laugh and Merlin laughed with her. 

“It’s a nice thought.” Merlin assured.

Gwen nodded but then looked up at Merlin quizzically. “Did you need me for something?”

“Yes, Arthur wanted to let you know that he will be hearing petitions for a few hours this afternoon and you are welcome to join him.”

Gwen nodded absently. Her eye caught a remaining patch of dirt and she leaned out far over the table to swipe at it. “Did training go well this morning?”

“I got the impression it could have gone better.”

“Is the Rheged contingent still insisting on tottering around in enough metal to arm a half dozen sensible soldiers?”

When Merlin didn’t answer Gwen looked up. “Is anything the matter?” The wizard’s shoulders sagged and his expression was glum.

“No,” Merlin shook his head and shrugged. 

Gwen came over and patted Merlin’s arm. Whatever was on her friend’s mind, she knew there was no way he was going to talk about it if he didn’t want to. That hadn’t changed as much as she might have hoped since the revelations of magic. Still, as long as Merlin talked to Arthur . . . It took a great deal of trust for Gwen to leave Merlin with his silence but she would give that trust to him.

“I think I will go and hear the petitions.” Gwen said as she put down the rag. She started to brush her hands over her clothes putting herself in order when she stopped abruptly. 

“Oh, for goodness sake.” The Queen exclaimed as she began to rub more urgently at a place on the bodice of her gown. “Meg is going to have my head.”

Curiously Merlin leaned forward and noticed that some of the oil Gwen had used to polish the table had splattered across her front.

“I don’t know why I didn’t think to put on an apron. I never used to forget that sort of thing.” Gwen berated herself as she picked up a comparatively clean cloth and started dabbing. “This isn’t going to come out and I don’t see that there is a way to hide it.”

“It doesn’t matter, Gwen.” Merlin soothed, bemused by Gwen’s distress. 

The Queen looked up at him face drawn into a moue of unhappiness. “I know. I just hate ruining such a nice dress and Meg will be out of sorts with me for . . .” Gwen gestured to indicate the bucket, rags and spotlessly clean table.

“Here, may I?” Merlin offered indicating the oil stain. 

For a second, Gwen did not take his meaning. Then her expression grew thoughtful. After a moment’s consideration she nodded gravely, lowered her hands to her sides and straightened her posture.

Merlin’s eyes turned gold and the oil slid off the fibers of Gwen’s dress without leaving any trace behind. When it was done, Gwen inspected the pristine velvet. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I forget all that you’re able to do sometimes.” Gwen confessed but then she hurried to clarify. “I don’t mean that I forget the big things. I know your magic shields us. I know the power you use to keep Camelot and Arthur safe and yet somehow I still don’t expect it- not the little things. Isn’t that strange?”

“With magic some little things are difficult and some big things are easy. There is no rhyme or reason to it that I can tell. I have an eclectic skill set, Gwen, there are plenty of things I can’t do- big and small.”

Still thoughtful, Gwen nodded and again reached to touch Merlin’s shoulder. “Shall we go see what we can do for the people of Camelot today?”

Feeling encouraged, Merlin offered Gwen’s his arm with a bow and self-deprecating smile. Together the Queen and Sorcerer left the room where the round table had been brought. Still arm-in-arm with Gwen, Merlin chanced to look back. Gwen was right the table really did look like it belonged there.  
*  
There were still several hours before dawn when Arthur decided that it was pointless to lie in bed any longer. He had slept fitfully for a few hours but now it seemed sleep had finally abandoned him.

When Gwen- as she had now- curled on her side she took up less than a quarter of the bed. Even so, Arthur was careful not to disturb her as he disentangled himself from the covers. He dressed in the darkness and bit his lip to hold back a curse as he struck his hip against the corner of the table.

Arthur sighed as he emerged into the torch lit hall. The guards on either side of the door came to nervous attention but Arthur ignored them. He continued to ignore them as one of them fell into step behind him. If he were given his preference, Arthur would have rather not been followed but there wasn’t much he could do about it. 

Well, of course he was the King. He could order the guard to leave him alone and eventually- with much demonstration of disapproval and reluctance- he would. It wouldn’t end there though. If Arthur started refusing to let guards follow him openly they would start doing it secretly and there was no dignity in that for any of them. Anyway, the guards had a right to their duty. Resenting them was childish and ungrateful. 

Ignoring his heavy-footed shadow as much as possible in hopes of creating at least the illusion of privacy Arthur made his way to the ramparts. He was sorely tempted to go down to the practice yard in hopes of finding some peace of mind by pushing his body to exhaustion but he refrained. Arthur was very conscious of the fact that he was always observed and while pacing along the ramparts late at night might pass as a sign of conscientiousness bashing the stuffing out of straw targets in the small hours without a reason would probably worry people

Taking a deep breath Arthur strode along the parapet. He was worried- so worried that he could not sleep. He knew that this sort of worry wasn’t helpful but once in a while Arthur found himself caught by a restlessness that refused all appeals to reason. Although Arthur had devoted a great deal of time thinking about and planning the Magic Market, it was not really the Magic Market that had driven him from bed. Arthur’s worry was somehow more general, diffuse and difficult to pin down. 

If he had to put a name to what was keeping him awake Arthur would have to say that it was magic itself. There was so much more than magic markets or angry sorcerers, more than magically facilitated petty crime, more than Saxon sorcerers and magicians politically allied with his enemies. There was more even than shape changing crystals and shields that came to life. Arthur could and did worry about all those things but there was more. The magic that lay at the fringe of Arthur’s imaginings was what overwhelmed him now. 

There was Morgana. There were dragons; Sidhe; Goblins; trolls; Unicorns. There were enchantments to enslave the dead and raise an army of skeletons. There were spells that could unleash hate filled spirits to prey on the living. There were curses that could devastate entire kingdoms. How could Arthur focus on or find hope in something like a magic market day when there were creatures, forces out there that were all but unstoppable- whose magic was like a surging tide that even sorcerers like Gaius or Iseldir or Edith were as helpless against as Arthur himself. It was too much. Arthur was hemmed in on all sides. Magic would smother him. Arthur’s stopped pacing and leaned against one of the merlons. He took several deep breaths to keep control of his breathing. When he was calmer he looked up to gaze out at the night.

Thoughts about what his life had been like before he had known how much magic was a part everything drifted through Arthur’s mind. He could never wish to return to the time before he knew of Merlin’s magic. Arthur hated the ignorance and the utterly unjustified confidence of the man he had been. He hated the memory of how he had stumbled blindly through pivotal events in his life. And yet, things had been less complicated then. The strange and incomprehensible jumble of feelings he had for Merlin had not troubled him nearly so much and the question of magic had not come to force its way into Arthur’s plans for his kingdom. 

As much as Arthur gained from the truth, he had also lost something when Merlin gave him his secret. It was a feeling of . . . of what, safety? Invulnerability? No, not exactly. Perhaps it was as simple as a loss of confidence- as undeserved, even ludicrous, as it had been Arthur had felt a kind of harmony with the world around him then. He blushed now to remember how childish had been his illusions but Arthur had believed that the world was basically, fundamentally friendly.

He had worried less then. Now he worried about everything. He even worried about Merlin. He worried especially about Merlin. Even though Merlin was a powerful sorcerer, Arthur could not help but think of the man as vulnerable. Arthur shivered. He didn’t think he would be able to stand it if something terrible happened to Merlin. 

Thoughts of Merlin led Arthur inevitably to the memory of that morning’s conversation over the warriors of Rheged. He felt his face heat. How could he have been so stupid? He honestly hadn’t realized what he was saying. He hadn’t seen the parallel between his own uselessness- armored as he was in ignorance and protected at great cost by Merlin and the Rehged men entombed and immobile in their great suits of armor. Arthur just hadn’t seen the irony, Merlin had had to point it out for him which of course made Arthur feel even stupider. Arthur had hidden, safe and useless, behind the shield of Merlin’s magic. Like the Reghed men he hadn’t even realized how he was handicapped. He’d just gone on blissfully unaware of his own ineffectiveness. Again self-disgust bubbled up like bile. Even though it was true, he wished he hadn’t gone blathering on about it in front of Merlin. It wasn’t Merlin’s fault. Merlin surely bore his own wounds from their past. 

Not that their past had been all bad, Arthur managed to add. In some ways it had been . . . But things were different now. Things were different so maybe Arthur needed to seriously insist that Merlin stop playing at being a servant. They had discussed it before but they were both comfortable with the way things were. There were certain advantages to having Merlin so close without anyone worrying about an undue magical influence. It felt natural- good- most of the time but that was probably as much of a warning sign as was the awkwardness over the conversation about the Reghed men. Merlin didn’t have to admit to being Emrys but Merlin’s destiny lay with magic. Arthur was not magic and could not be. Persevering in such . . . domestic intimacy could only hurt them in the end.

Rubbing his forehead, Arthur realized that the sky was beginning to lighten. He couldn’t stay here much longer but he had not yet completely shaken his dark mood. He cared for Merlin so much. He wanted to take away all the hurt that had ever been between them. But something besides pride stood in his way.

For a few moments more Arthur let himself stare into the coming dawn, trying to put to one side the swirling mass of anxiety and confusion. He had such hopes and ambitions and he was so afraid of falling short of what he knew was possible. Arthur had made so many mistakes . . . . With effort he swallowed down the night’s worries. Shutting his eyes Arthur reached for calm. 

He returned to his room just as the sun crested the horizon. The curtains had been flung open and light flooded the room. Gwen was nowhere in evidence and Arthur assumed she had gone into the adjoining room with her ladies and maids to dress. Merlin was there though. He was gazing out the window. He did not turn around when Arthur came in so Arthur didn’t immediately break the silence. There was breakfast on the table- fruit mostly and other light fare. It was the sort of food that would be gentle on a nervous stomach. 

The light was working to dispel Arthur’s brooding mood and he felt a quietness within himself. He went to the window and, without really considering it, he put a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin did turn then and his expression was thoughtful as he regarded Arthur. Arthur moved his hand so that it rested on the back of Merlin’s neck. They stared at each for a few moments but then Merlin smiled and reached out to touch Arthur’s shirt.

“Your seams are wrong side out.”

Arthur nodded at this since it was true. “So they are.” 

Merlin grinned “Come on, you need to eat.” Merlin guided Arthur to the table. “Big day and all that.”

Arthur sat down and tentatively essayed his breakfast while Merlin fluttered about the room. When Arthur was done eating all that he wanted, he dressed in the green and gold tunic Merlin and Gwen had selected. Merlin fussed and Arthur let him until there really wasn’t anything more that could be done. Now it was Merlin’s turn to put a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “It’s going to be all right you know.”

“I know.” Arthur assured. “And even if it isn’t- it’s still the right thing and that’s worth something.”

Merlin would have responded but Gwen arrived then. Arthur looked up to greet her but stopped. Gwen’s hair was down, sweeping over her shoulders and down her back in soft waves. There was a crown of ivy atop her head and subtle cosmetics accented her eyes and lips. Her green and gold dress followed the curves of her body in elegant sweeps. 

Gwen was Arthur’s beautiful queen, his Helen, the apple of his eye, his sweet angel. That all went without saying- not literally, of course, Arthur knew to mind the forms- but he rarely really thought about it. Most of the time Arthur thought of Guinevere as a partner and counselor. She was his friend and confidante. It was quite nice though, that she was also a very beautiful woman.

Sensing something of Arthur’s thoughts in his expression, Gwen beamed her affection. “Ready?”

“Ready.” Arthur went to take Gwen’s arm. His eye caught on Merlin as he did so. Arthur’s mind had just been primed to appreciate beauty so if he felt an echo of that same ache in his heart and stomach that he had just felt while looking at Guinevere it was hardly worth noticing. Arthur’s former dark mood had transformed itself and now Arthur felt such love and longing. He wanted such good things for all of them, for Camelot, for Albion. 

Arthur relied upon Guinevere and Merlin so very much. He trusted them both; loved them both- his Queen and his Sorcerer. Any man would be a king if he had Merlin at his right hand and Guinevere at his left. It didn’t matter that he and Merlin didn’t really have a destiny. There was still a bond between them. Arthur would appreciate it for as long as it lasted. It was not wrong, Arthur told himself firmly, that he should care deeply about Merlin- just as he cared deeply for Guinevere.

“I’ll see you in a while, then?” Arthur said to Merlin over his shoulder. His tone was light and casual. Merlin responded with a nod and a wide grin.  
*  
Once the King and Queen had left the room, Merlin went over to inspect Arthur’s armor. He expected that it would be in the same shape he had left it in yesterday but checking was a habit that offered reassurance and Merlin wanted reassurance now. 

Many of Merlin’s more tedious duties as manservant had been delegated to others and Merlin did not lament their loss. There were, however, some tasks over which Merlin felt possessive. He was not about to trust the care of Arthur’s armor to someone else.

Finding the armor in fine condition, Merlin left the room and meandered down the corridor until he came to a window that overlooked the fairground. His eye was immediately drawn to Arthur and Guinevere as the two monarchs browsed the stands. The Magic Market was gaining more attendance as the day went on but even though more people were milling about they left a respectful space around the King and Queen. Merlin felt a moment’s pride. Arthur was not afraid of his people. He did not keep a phalanx of guards between himself and the citizens of Camelot. To be sure, there were knights in the crowd, keeping a careful eye out, but no one was held back.

Both Arthur and Guinevere made a point of handling the merchandise and asking the vendors questions. This was largely for show because in preparing for this day every item for sale had been listed and described for prior approval. But now Arthur and Guinevere were trying to put people at ease with magic and the merchants were eager to demonstrate their wares. Many people found their courage or their curiosity in the King and Queen’s wake.

There were a cluster of stalls selling thread, yarn, woven cloth and other items of needlecraft. Gwen’s body language changed very subtly as she approached and Merlin smiled because now Gwen’s interest was no longer feigned. She examined the work on display with a professional eye and she was clearly pleased. The colors were deep and the patterns intricate. There was thread that possessed an iridescent quality and material guaranteed to repel water as well as wax or oil could. There were even a few items on sale that were not magic but they had been made with techniques unknown in Camelot. The vendors had been afraid to bring them before for fear that someone might find them suspicious. 

It was evident that Gwen was likely to remain where she was for the foreseeable future. Arthur had taken a quick look at the water resistant material, ascertained that there was no dagger resistant material on offer and then- to be a good sport- he had chosen his favorite among an assortment of red fabrics. This was the limit of his patience however, and the couple parted company. Merlin watched the crowd ripple as Arthur moved through it on his own. Automatically Merlin sought out the position of the knights. Percival and Gawain stayed where they were- keeping an unobtrusive eye on Gwen while Leon and Elyan were keeping pace with Arthur. Merlin nodded to himself and turned away from the window. Now was as good a time as any.

Merlin had to stop himself before years of habit led him automatically to Gaius’s chambers. He had new rooms now- a workspace and a bedroom in a small turret. As grateful as Merlin was to Gaius for so many things, he was glad for space to call his own where there weren’t patients coming in at all hours of the day and night and where all odors were readily identifiable. He did miss Gaius’s company but he saw the old physician often and truth be told it was past time for Gaius to have a full time apprentice who was actually interested in practicing medicine.

Nearing his little tower, Merlin passed two kitchen maids giggling together. Merlin greeted them and- as Merlin was always up for a giggle- he asked them what they were up to.

“We’re on our way to the fair.” Martha told him as she clutched Glynis’s arm excitedly.

“Is that where you’re going, Merlin? Do you want to come with us?” Glynis invited as she shivered a little in expectation. “There are to be all manner of wonders.”

“Since you know magic, maybe you could come and, maybe, show us around a bit.” Martha looked at Merlin coyly from beneath her eyelashes.

“I’m sorry. I’d love to but I’ve been loaded down with work all day.” Merlin was pleased at the girls’ excitement.

“Oh surely you can take a little time.” Martha coaxed. “I’m sure the King wants you to see the market.”

“I’m afraid it’s Lord Emrys who has me running around today.” Merlin watched as a bit of color left both girls’ faces.

“I suppose you’d better keep on your toes then.” Glynis advised. Emrys was a deliberate mystery and for that reason as well as others he was a figure of some trepidation among the court.

“You two have fun though and I want you to tell me all about it later.” Merlin said sighing to show how much he regretted not being able to accompany the girls.

“We will.” Glynis promised.

“You take care, Merlin.” Martha urged. She touched Merlin’s arm protectively as she and Glynis resumed their walk.

“I promise.” Merlin agreed smiling. He was buoyed by the girls’ enthusiasm. Arthur worried- that was his job. But, it really was going to be all right. The people were ready for this. Everything was going to be all right.

Merlin climbed the stairs that ran around the circumference of his tower workroom and entered his bedroom. He still blushed to think of this space as his own. He was the most powerful sorcerer alive and yet this modest luxury still made him feel like an imposter. That realization made Merlin smile as he went to his cupboard and removed the false back. A long crimson robe hung in the secret compartment next to the Sidhi staff. Merlin removed both objects.

It had occurred to Merlin several times that he should create some sort of magical hiding place for his things. He never seemed to get around to it, though. Other things kept coming up. There was also a part of him that felt the simplest solutions were sometimes the best.

Donning the crimson robe, Merlin stood in front of his mirror. He began to chant. His eyes turned gold. Then Emrys stood staring back at him from the glass. Merlin took care to study his image. He had modified his disguise over time. He no longer changed into an eighty year old man. That disguise imposed too many physical limitations. He did not, however, simply cover himself in a glamour. Too many sorcerers would be able to detect such an illusion- even if they could not break it, they would know more than Merlin wanted them to.

So, Merlin cast a partial aging. His skin, hair and nails became those of an old man. He compressed and curved his spine to take away several inches of his height and stoop his shoulders. Merlin made sure though to retain much of his own agility, strength and endurance.

Having determined that he had successfully made a complete transformation, Merlin took up his staff. Closing his eyes to concentrate- and to keep from getting dizzy- Merlin cast another spell. As the words took effect Merlin began to spin- faster and faster until he disappeared.

Merlin reappeared with a jolt and a surge of nausea in the castle courtyard. Even before he opened his eyes he heard the gasps. It had taken hours and hours of practice in the middle of the night before Merlin felt it was safe to teleport the short distance between his tower room and the courtyard. It was still an uncomfortable trip and Merlin didn’t think he would ever accomplish it without worrying but it had the advantage of being both quick and dramatic.

When Merlin finally opened his eyes he saw that a large space had been cleared around him as people had staggered back the instant he appeared. Some people stared warily. Others attempted something like a bow; others were running away and still others were continuing about their business. Merlin paid no heed to any of them. Instead he headed purposefully toward the fairgrounds and the magic market.

The murmur of ‘Emrys’ ran before him so that when he caught sight of Arthur, the King was waiting for him. Merlin approached and bowed deeply. “My Lord King.” He spoke loudly enough to be heard by the anxious crowd. Emrys might be mysterious but Merlin still wanted the people of Camelot to have trust in him. They needed to know that despite his powerful magic and strange ways he was Camelot’s friend and Arthur’s servant. 

“Lord Emrys.” Arthur greeted in return. The King offered the Wizard a smile of welcome and a handshake. It might have been Merlin’s imagination but as he clasped Arthur’s hand he felt a subtle change in the crowd- as if everyone gathered there had released their breath at once.

“Is the fair meeting expectations?” Merlin asked for want of something better to say as he and Arthur walked side by side.

“The Queen is single-handedly making this day worthwhile for the cloth merchants at least.” Arthur smiled. “Many of the others are doing decent business as well- though it was slow going at first. No one really knows what a fair price for magic is so there have been some tense negotiations but a consensus seems to be emerging.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Gaius is very interested- that is, I hear from my apprentice that the physician Gaius is interested to hear about the most commonly requested cures in case there is something he might do to improve his own treatments.” Merlin and Arthur had agreed that while Merlin was the old man he should act like the old man as much as possible even among those privy to the truth. It took some getting used to but it could also be a little fun, a little liberating.

“I hope he will find information that will give him the opportunity to better his craft.” Arthur acknowledged. “But what of you? Is this what you hoped it would be?”

“I could not have described what I hoped for,” Merlin said honestly. “But this all makes me very glad.”

Arthur nodded solemnly.

“And are you pleased, my lord?” Emrys asked. It was odd to be walking side-by-side with Arthur and have to crane his neck to look at him. The unusual angles gave Arthur’s familiar face a slightly different aspect.

Arthur looked around. He saw his people. He saw magic. He saw a puppet show where the puppeteer stood among the audience with golden eyes. He saw translucent butterflies hovering around a stall where a woman was selling cosmetics. He saw luck charms and prosperity pendants. He saw sacks that weighed less than whatever was put inside them and all manner of tricks and wonders. “It’s all right, isn’t it.” Arthur finally answered. “It’s all right.”

“This is just the beginning.” Merlin could not help the pleasure that burbled up. “There is so much more, Arthur. You will see. It can be so . . . beautiful.”

“I’m sure some of it is.” Arthur said still gazing out over the crowd. “But beauty is not what I am looking for from magic.”

“What are you looking for from magic?” 

“Peace. A peace that is built upon . . .I don’t know, something tangible, some principle independent of magic.” For a moment it seemed Arthur would go on but then he grinned suddenly as though to make fun of his own earnestness. “I want the same thing from magic as I want from my allied knights but it doesn’t really work that way, does it?”

“It may very well work that way, Arthur. If there is to be an Albion, if we are to be one people and one land then there must be one law and one King. I don’t see how it could work otherwise.” Emrys answered almost complacently. Merlin was Emrys and not Emrys. It shouldn’t have made a difference whether he wore his disguise or not and yet when he was Emrys sometimes he and Arthur were able to come at questions differently. Disguises could lead to truth, Merlin sometimes thought to himself. He did not, however, say it to anyone else for fear that even those closest to him would see it as casuistry.

Emrys would have liked to go on. He felt he was getting to something with Arthur and he wanted to pursue it but a man in a green and purple doublet was striding toward them with an expression of determined geniality. Merlin sighed at the interruption but this was what he had come here for.

“My Lord Emrys, I’m so pleased to see you here. Sire.” The man inclined his head to Arthur while he vigorously shook Merlin’s hand.

“Permit me to make introductions,” Arthur said and Merlin knew him too well not to notice that he was working hard to conceal a smirk. “Lord Cole, this is Emrys, foretold by prophecy, acclaimed by the Druid people and sorcerer to the Court of Camelot. Lord Emrys, this is Cole ambassador from the Court of King Lugh of Dumnonia.”

“I am honored to make your acquaintance, Lord Emrys. Your reputation precedes you.” Cole had not yet let go of Merlin’s hand. “I apologize for this crass interruption but I would beg an audience of you at your convenience. It is such a rare treat when you make a public appearance that I could not let this opportunity go by.”

Merlin tried not to grimace as he finally extricated his hand from Cole’s. He knew Cole of course. He haunted the halls of the castle listening for rumors and hosting the occasional lavish dinner party. He had accosted Merlin on more than one occasion offering thinly veiled bribes to mention his name to either of Merlin’s masters. Merlin played dumb while Camelot’s court generously informed Cole that while Merlin was Emrys’s apprentice and Arthur’s servant it seemed that wizards and kings along with gods loved a fool. There was no point in harassing the boy. He was absolutely loyal to his King and the wizard and even if he were not it was impossible that he would be trusted with anything truly important.

“Well, now seems as good a time as any.” Arthur said jovially.

“Oh no, Sire, I would not wish to disturb you further.” Cole said. He had not turned his eyes from Merlin.

“Pish,” Arthur said and Merlin scowled at him. “Emrys and I speak all the time. Good day, gentlemen.” Arthur retreated quickly- only just managing to turn away before the smirk took over his face. It irked Merlin that Arthur should enjoy this part so much but it couldn’t be helped. This was what he had signed up for. He could at least be grateful that he only had to endure being a public spectacle on special occasions.

“What do you want, Cole?” Emrys was a cantankerous old curmudgeon. He was expected to make a diplomat work for his pay.

“Nothing, my Lord, nothing.” Cole said falling into step beside Merlin as the wizard resumed his walk around the fair. “Only to assure you of my master’s unstinting goodwill and to remind you that while happily the days of Uther’s tyranny are over Dumnonia never succumbed to Camelot’s pressure to outlaw magic.”

Merlin made a disdainful sound and stopped in front of a stall selling meat pasties. Dumnonia had not outlawed magic but it had left its sorcerers to the whims of mob justice interfering only when the royal court could find some advantage to a particular sorcerer’s service. There was no point in getting drawn into an argument, though. In any kingdom’s history there were bound to be episodes of pride and shame. Merlin accepted a hot and especially flaky pie from the vendor.

“No, my lord. Please, take it.” The vendor said when Merlin started searching his robes for coins.

“Nonsense.” Merlin insisted but as he continued to pat himself he recalled that his money was still in his trouser pocket- beyond his convenient reach. “Cole, could I impose on your unstinting goodwill . . .”

Cole’s eyes made several trips between the pasty, the great sorcerer and the shy vendor, whose hunched shoulders made it clear he did not wish to be any part of this discussion- before realization dawned and the diplomat fished several pennies from his purse and handed them to the cook.

‘Thanks.” Merlin beamed around a mouthful of pasty. “It’s really quite good. Here, do you want some?” Cole demurred with more grace than Merlin expected as he thrust the food toward him.

“Should you ever find that you desire a more welcoming environment Lugh would be willing to accommodate any needs you may have. Magic such as yours deserves proper appreciation.” Cole said dodging Merlin’s fingers.

“I am not a mercenary.” Merlin had expected this but he still found himself indignant. “I do not sell my magic to the highest bidder.”

“Of course not.” Cole said smoothly. “I’m only saying that you have friends beyond these borders, Lord Emrys.”

“Well, that’s nice. Everyone should have friends.” Merlin said with sugary sweetness. “Now, off you go.” Merlin made shooing motions with his hands when Cole did not move. “Go on.” 

Taking a deep breath, Cole bowed and retreated. Merlin licked his fingers and waited- feeling something like a tethered goat- for whoever else felt like taking a run at him. It was just the start of the afternoon and Merlin had already been sorely tempted to- very briefly- turn Cole into a toad. Emrys was supposed to be powerful and eccentric after all. A small demonstration of transmogrification and Merlin felt sure he would be able to call it an early day. Cole had almost certainly done something to deserve it. 

But then that was part of the problem, wasn’t it. Even if Cole were the rudest, most inconsiderate and obnoxious of overbearing gits- and in honesty, he really wasn’t that bad as these things went- then Merlin’s little prank would not be so much teaching him a lesson as validating his behavior. He couldn’t use his magic to amuse himself at another’s expense. He could be as surly as he pleased but if he was seen being petty with his magic he would set his cause back to the beginning. 

It was not five minutes before Merlin was approached by another ambassador- this time from Powys. Merlin thought he fancied chestnuts this time.

An indeterminate time later that might have been measured in minutes by the sun’s passage but must surely have come to hours as the mind counts time Powys bowed his leave and Merlin was alone again. It wouldn’t last long, but as Merlin stood sucking grease from his fingers and waiting he became aware of a growing commotion near one of the magic sellers.

“It’s faery gold. I know it is. I saw it clear as anything. I gave him my two coins to put this edge on my ax and as he’s fetching what I’m due in return I see it. There was a flash and something happened to the coin and I won’t be paid with faery gold!”

“My dear man, were there such a thing as faery copper then there might be at least the possibility of a justified complaint.” As Emrys came up, the small crowd that was gathering around the red-faced, ax carrying farmer drew back several paces but increased its attentiveness.

The indignant farmer paled at the sight of Emrys but he drew himself up. “I won’t be cheated, my lord. I know what I saw.”

“You didn’t see anything but the sun glint on metal.” The merchant said to the farmer, eyes darting to Merlin between each word. “No one is cheating you!”

Sir Kay and Edith, who had been patrolling the fair on the lookout for just such a contretemps, began pushing their way through the crowd. “What’s all this then.” Kay demanded officiously.

The farmer repeated his story adding that nothing would do now save for him to take back his own coins. The merchant repeated his denials and refused to give up his rightful fee for the extraordinarily keen edge he had given the farmer’s ax.

“Well, there seems only one fair way to get to the bottom of this mystery.” Emrys said rubbing his hands. “If there is such a thing as faery copper, I should like to know about it. You and I, Master . . .” Emrys looked at the farmer until he reluctantly supplied ‘Jahbed’. “Excellent. You and I, Master Jahbed must take this coin and with Sir Kay and this merchant here watch it closely until tomorrow’s dawn. Then we shall see what we shall see, eh? If the coin changes at sun up then we shall have quite good evidence and unimpeachable witnesses to bring before his Majesty’s courts, shall we not?”

Jahbed looked positively wobbly but he raised his chin. He was backed into a corner and he knew it but he had seen what he had seen. The merchant’s expression was ambivalent. On the one hand he welcomed the chance at vindication but on the other he had no wish to spend an afternoon and night in the company of a powerful wizard, an irascible seneschal and an aggrieved customer.

“Your pardon, my lord Emrys,” Kay said into the charged silence, “But as fascinating as I’m sure this experiment would be I must plead other duties. As I’m confident there is no ‘faery gold’ here I shall offer this.” Kay fished in his belt pouch and retrieved a copper coin. “Give me your coin for this one, Master Jahbed. If I find fraud I will pursue it If not . . . Well, I’ll have wasted only a little time.” Kay glared at Jahbed to make it clear that he really didn’t like wasting his time in any duration.

“No, Sir Kay. In the interests of fairness and magical inquiry I must insist. This may be faery copper and I would not have this good man cheated.”

“Um, eh, no, my lord Emrys, please.” Jahbed squealed seizing on the chance the seneschal had given him. “I’m sure Sir Kay has the right of it . . . and, um, it is possible I mis-saw. I would not have you- or the noble Sir Kay- or you spend your time on such a trifle.”

“Are you very sure, Jahbed?” Emrys asked peering into the farmer’s eyes. “I take a deep and personal interest in such questions. If there is any doubt in your mind I insist we see the experiment through.”

“No doubt. None, actually. Just got caught up in the excitement, I’m sure. I beg your pardon, my lord.” Jahbed bowed to Emrys, agilely swiped his coin for the one Kay held, and sidled away. There were a few amused jeers from the crowd. The consensus was that Sir Kay did not part with coin save if it were for value. The people who had gathered dispersed as quickly as they had come as Emrys cast his eye over them. 

Sir Kay gave Emrys a small nod while Edith went into a full curtsey and then they were also off. Looking about him Emrys saw that area was not quite deserted. One of the boys who had had a prime spot at the front of the crowd to watch the goings on remained. He was red-haired and freckled with a bright green tunic. Merlin felt certain he had seen him around the castle but he couldn’t quite place him. When the boy caught Merlin’s eye his face pulled into a grin and he winked. In the next moment, he was off- vanished into the market.

‘Cheeky little beggar.’ Merlin thought to himself. He was still trying to remember where he had seen the boy before when he was interrupted by the greeting of a man who had somehow managed to get quite close without Emrys noticing.

“Lord Emrys?” Merlin felt his amusement diminish as he turned to face the man.

“And who might you be?” Merlin did not recognize the man from the castle or the town. 

“I am Tobin, Lord. I bring news from the Northern Bhuidseach.” 

“Whatever news you have must be presented at Court.” Emrys said on a long exhale. Prophets, mystics, remnants of secret societies were all coming out of the woodwork now with tidings and predictions. 

Merlin was glad they were coming forward. Ultimately, Merlin hoped for a time when magical concerns were fully integrated into the business of the kingdom. For now though most people who came from a magical community were only willing to approach Emrys. Merlin did sympathize. Those with magic were justified in feeling distrust of secular authority. Perhaps magical folk also wondered how a secular authority could deal with a magical issue. Indeed, without really thinking about it, Merlin had supposed that once magic became legal some group- likely consisting of Gaius, maybe some of the more trustworthy Druids and Emrys would address any magical concern that was brought up. He expected the work would mostly consist of providing the knights with a reliable means of attack whenever a magical creature threatened and unmasking the occasional nefarious magical plot. In short, he had expected to continue doing what he had been doing only with more support and recognition.

When Merlin did really think about it though, he understood that magic should not be treated differently than the rest of the kingdom’s business. It was an essential part of Arthur’s plan that as magical issues impacted secular decision-making then so too would secular decision-making impact magic. 

“What Court?” The man looked honestly confused and this was what made Merlin sigh.

Merlin gestured toward the castle. “The Court at Camelot. News and petitions should be presented there. If you believe your business should not be addressed before the public then you may request a more private audience.” 

“But, I have come to warn you. I have had visions. All the seers of our Bhuidseach have been dreaming prophetic dreams. Mine have been the clearest but,” Tobin pressed a hand to his head. “Things are so confused. The magic is not always clear and images can deceive . . . We are on the threshold of too many possibilities. Too much past. Too much future. Being wars with becoming.”

Merlin knew his expression was deeply skeptical and for politeness sake he tried to smooth it into something more neutral but Tobin didn’t even seem to notice. He clutched Emrys’s arm.

“Listen,” Tobin said urgently as he gazed at Emrys with haunted eyes. “The fair folk watch. The Queen of Air and Darkness waits. She seeks to claim all the great magics for herself but the land will never accept her. She is ruthless in her search even though she shall never wield the sword. There is no place for her at table. She will not recognize the truth even as she holds it in her hands. Her cup is filled with Poison and she would make the world drink. The Maiden and the Hag have caught the Ill-made knight but now he languishes with the Princess of Cups. His mother weeps for him but he cannot hear her cries. The Fisher King stands guard at the Castle Perilous where heroes are tested.” Merlin raised a hand but the words continued to tumble out. 

“The Prince of Pentacles will at last be revealed. Truth deals wounds that do not heal save by the magic of the land-“ Merlin reached out and took a firm hold of Tobin’s shoulder. The man finally broke off with a shudder.

“Son,” Merlin smirked inwardly. Tobin had to be ten years older than he was. “No doubt your Bhuidseach possesses great wisdom,” Merlin thought that- in fact- there might be some doubt. Merlin had seen the esoteric flitting about in wisdom’s stolen clothes often enough not to be automatically impressed, still one never knew and he wanted to be diplomatic. “But, you must bring these words to Court. Prophecy always contains mystery and neither you nor I should try to interpret these visions without help.”

It wasn’t that Merlin didn’t believe Tobin had some sort of prophetic warning. There were a lot of prophecies out there. Even after dismissing the fraud and the wishful thinking, there were a lot of prophecies. The problem was that Merlin had no idea what that stuff Tobin had gone ranting on about meant. Even if he had understood it he had no way of knowing what if anything should be done about it. Prophecy was a never-ending headache. And, while it was true that Merlin had been manipulated into diving head first into some prophecies, Merlin was- for the most part- happy enough to leave the chips to fall where they may. Obsessing over the future could be as paralyzing as obsessing over the past.

As Merlin contemplated the unholy mess visions could lead a person into, he became aware of a small change in the quality of the air. His nose twitched as though near pepper. In the next instant Merlin’s eyes went gold and Tobin squeaked with alarm as a ring he wore around the third finger of his right hand glowed then disintegrated. The dust hung in the air a second before it was caught up in the breeze.

“Did you come here to test me, Tobin?” Merlin asked mildly.

“No!” Tobin denied taking a step away and then another before deciding flight was useless and his best chance was to fall back on what dignity he could muster. “I just . . . wanted to see. I didn’t think . . . .” Tobin trailed off and Merlin considered the ways that sentence might have ended. ‘I didn’t think you would mind.’? ‘I didn’t think I’d get caught.’?

“And now you have. You are welcome to bring whatever news you wish to Camelot’s court.” Merlin turned away deliberating showing the sorcerer his back. Merlin had sensed a stirring, a vague sensation as though someone were trying to pick his pocket. He had responded instinctively- lashing out at the intrusion. If he had thought about it he might have tried to better understand the source and intent of the cautious probing but he did not think. Merlin had been surprised to witness the effect of his retaliation.

Merlin waited until he heard Tobin’s retreating footsteps. Then he waited a little longer. When he was certain the other sorcerer was gone Merlin let a small shiver of reaction run through him. If Tobin had been the direct source of the intrusive magic rather than his ring what would Merlin’s counterattack have done to the man? Tobin shouldn’t have been trying to spy. He shouldn’t have sent itchy little fingers to grope and tug at Merlin mind. He shouldn’t have aimed any sort of magic at Merlin at all without explicit permission. Forget that it was rude. It was plain stupid. Did Tobin have any idea the number, strength and sheer variety of hostile magic Merlin had had to put down over the years? The man was an idiot and yet Merlin would have been sorry to have killed him for it.

The parade of suppliants continued through the day. It was often tedious. Merlin knew he needed to keep track of who approached and for what purposes but there was a monotony to it all that left him feeling genuinely old. Yet, despite being mostly bored, Merlin could not deny that he was not entirely immune to the flattering- even fawning- attention lavished on him. This embarrassed him slightly because he had always assumed that he would be completely unsusceptible to such blandishments. But, it did feel good to be treated as wise and important. 

Merlin had labored so long in darkness while his sacrifices of blood and pride were concealed by his own hand. Then, when all was revealed, he realized that the gifts he had so willingly given could be no more than bittersweet when combined with his secrets. After such hard truth, to be valued, to be prized- even if only as a means to an end- was something Merlin wanted. Though not from Dumnonia or Powys.

Despite the unpleasantness with Tobin, the most upsetting portion of the day came at some point between the sweet meats and the marzipan. Merlin was again accosted, but not by a well-heeled foreign lord, a representative from one of Camelot’s own barons or dukes or even as Merlin half-expected and half-feared some masterless mage looking to cause trouble. The man was a simple peasant and he fell on his knees before Merlin.

“Great lord.” The man whispered and then repeated more loudly. “Great lord.”

“What is it?” Merlin remembered the man from the day before. He had been one of the petitioners.

“Great lord, the levees that protected my village from the spring floods and that supplied all our fields with water in the summer months were destroyed in a terrible storm. Everything we have has been lost in the deluge. I beg you to help us.”

“Why have you not asked the King for aid?” Merlin had been right there when the man told this same story to Arthur.

“I have, great lord.”

“And did he refuse you?”

“No, lord. He is sending us an engineer to repair the levies and a small company of knights and guardsmen to do the work and keep order.” The man confessed.

“Is that all?” Merlin had been standing right there.

“No lord. This year’s taxes have been remitted and messages sent to the nearest holding unaffected by the disaster to secure a supply of grain at the Crown’s expense.”

“Then, what would you have me do?”

“All that the King has promised will take time and in that time people will suffer. Even when the King has done all that he has said, our village, our lives will not be as they were before.” The man was still on his knees. Merlin sincerely wished he would stand up. “You could restore everything now. In no time, we could have our homes back- all that we have lost.”

“Do you think I can fix all the world’s problems with a wave of my hand?” Merlin felt deep pity for the flooded village but what could be done was being done. If people thought they could go to Arthur and then go to Emrys to get a different answer then that idea needed to be put to rest quickly.

“I do not ask you to fix all the world’s problems, lord, only my village.” 

“Magic is no more the solution to every problem than it is the cause. Make the best of what you have been given and be grateful.”

The man bowed his head at these words and Merlin forced himself to turn away. He felt wretched- sanctimonious and wretched. He probably could have helped the man’s village. He couldn’t have turned back time and held back the flood but he could have done some good. It was so hard to say no but a man could destroy himself trying to do some good everywhere some good could be done. The worse pity of it was that yesterday, when word of the village’s misfortune had reached court, Merlin had felt good about the plan devised to send aid. Arthur and his advisors- and Merlin considered that he, as Merlin, had contributed in small but important ways- had looked at the situation and come up with a solution. All the satisfaction that had come from managing the crisis was gone now.

The shadows lengthened and slowly the vendors present at Camelot’s first magic market began to pack up their remaining goods. Merlin had been wandering for hours- taking on all comers. Now, he felt he had done enough and he earnestly hoped Emrys could avoid making another public appearance for a while. He knew he ought to be present at the last Council session before Arthur led their newly trained allied force to the Saxon shore but surely that would be sufficient. The Great Emrys was very busy doing wizard things. He couldn’t be expected to be available to discuss the future of magic with everyone who had an opinion, could he? 

Merlin considered returning to his rooms the way he had come but the teleportation spell was disorienting at the best of times and now he was tired and full of fair food. So, he left Camelot by the front gate. Using the Sidhe staff as a walking stick, Merlin hiked a mile or so into the woods. Then he stopped and waited. He stretched his senses. He did not believe anyone had followed him but he let the forest speak to him. When he was certain that he was alone his eyes changed color and he happily shucked off the long red robe. He stretched, enjoying his old height. Next, the fully restored Merlin turned the red robe inside out. It had been lined in an inconspicuous brown fabric. He tied this over the staff’s crystal making a bindle. Then headed back to Camelot.

Merlin arrived just in time to slip through before the gate was closed for the night. If the gates had been closed, Merlin had no doubt that he would have been let through with only a grin or a scowl depending on who was on guard. After an afternoon of being Emrys, Merlin was struck with a sudden sentimental joy that he belonged here. He belonged so thoroughly that it was not strange to see him anywhere at any time, doing- more or less- anything. He was just Merlin- safe, comfortable, helpful Merlin.

Upon entering the castle, Merlin learned that the King and Queen were dining together. Merlin was already striding to their rooms when a sudden thought brought him up short. It was just possible that Arthur and Gwen might prefer to be alone. According to common wisdom that was something married couples sometimes wanted. A part of Merlin complained that he had had a long day and he wanted a bit of sympathy and encouragement. He had gathered (possibly) valuable intelligence from the wooing nobles and he ought to share that as soon as possible. Besides wasn’t he just congratulating himself on how he was accepted anywhere he wanted to be. Arthur and Gwen would always be pleased to see him. Merlin winced at that. He was being deliberately obtuse. Shaking his head at himself Merlin turned around.

There were plenty of other options if Merlin wanted company. He considered going to the kitchens. There was always easy conversation and friendly faces there. Merlin was eager to hear the gossip about the Magic Market . . . but, he wasn’t at all hungry and he felt too tired to try and keep up with the chaos of a busy kitchen. 

Merlin could also go to the tavern; Gawain would be there along with a few of the other knights. Gawain always made a point of being glad to see him even if he was distracted in the next moment by a roll of dice or a coquettish giggle. But again, Merlin was not in the mood for boisterous company. There was Gaius if Merlin fancied a quiet chat. The physician’s new apprentice was likely to be around but that wasn’t a problem. Merlin wasn’t planning on exchanging confidences or anything like that.

In the end, Merlin went to his tower rooms. He really was exhausted and the more he thought about it the more even the most convivial company felt like too much work. In his bedroom he left Emrys’s robe on the floor. He would need to clean it before he returned it to its hiding place but that could wait. Climbing beneath his quilt Merlin pulled the blanket up to his chin. He smiled at the sudden sensation of security that the covers offered and let out a long sigh. Sleep came almost instantly.  
*


	2. Chapter 2

Thud.

Thud. 

“Wha . . .” Merlin groaned. What time was it?

Thud.

“All right!” Merlin shouted as he staggered out of bed. He summoned a blue sphere of light. The sky outside his windows was still dark.

“Who is it?” Merlin called halfway down the stairs.

“Leon.”

“Come in.” The grogginess of sleep began to give way to apprehension. Being woken in the middle of the night never meant good news. “What’s going on?”

Leon crossed the threshold holding a candle before him. The knight was not displaying any overt signs of distress, so that was something.

“A messenger has just arrived asking for the King. Arthur thinks you should see her together.”

‘Her’, a female messenger was not utterly unheard of but far from typical. “Any idea what she wants?” Merlin headed back up the stairs to dress. He gestured that Leon should follow him rather than shout.

“No. But, she insisted that it was urgent.”

“Hm.” Merlin caught sight of his red robe as he reached the top of the stairs. He rushed over to it and stuffed it into the cupboard just ahead of Leon. Leon knew about Emrys but the First Knight’s ‘Merlin, you have to be more careful’ was on a par with Gaius’s. “Did she say anything else?”

“Only that her message was from the Lady of the Lake.” Leon was staring out the dark window to give Merlin privacy to dress.

“What?” Merlin froze with his shirt only half on.

“That’s what Arthur said.” Merlin could hear the sardonic smile.

“What else did Arthur say?” Merlin scrambled to get his boots on suddenly eager to be off.

“Besides to fetch you? He said, ‘the Lady of the Lake is Merlin’s friend, a creature of magic who has helped our cause in the past.’” Leon had not been able to discern from Arthur’s tone whether he was saying that the Lady was Camelot’s ally or only Merlin’s. Maybe Arthur did not know himself. 

“Come on.” Merlin had finished dressing and dashed down the stairs ahead of Leon before coming to an abrupt halt. “Which way are we going?”  
*  
It was to be a night of interrupted sleep for many people and Sir Leon bore the dubious distinction of being the first roused from slumber. An anxious guardsman had shaken him into consciousness a little after third bell. There was a woman at the gate claiming urgent business with the King. The guards could not ignore such a strange occurrence but no one particularly wanted to go banging on Arthur’s door on some stranger’s say so. Leon had been the compromise solution.

Even though Magic market day had been a success by just about any standard, many in the court- Leon included- had gone with little sleep in the preceding days so that that could be so. The knight did his best to conceal his weariness as he strode into the guardroom where the woman had been told to wait. Annabella – one of the servants in the night-kitchen- was there with the visitor. Leon approved of this concession to chivalry and made a note to find out which of the men had thought to fetch a chaperone and make some demonstration of approval.

The visitor herself was dressed in trousers and a tunic. She was very young- not much more than a girl. She looked tired. According to the guards she had come on foot with no more than the clothes on her back. The woman rose when Leon entered the room and gave him a nod of acknowledgment. He returned the gesture.

“I am Sir Leon. I’m told you wish to see the King?”

“I bring an urgent message from the Lady of the Lake.” The woman spoke firmly but Leon had the impression that she had practiced the words many times to achieve that firmness. “My instructions are to deliver this message to Arthur Pendragon personally.”

So who was the Lady of the Lake? And what were the chances this message would involve a lightning bolt or something close akin? There was nothing in what the messenger had just said that asserted the Lady of the Lake was a sorceress but that was immediately where Leon’s mind went. ‘Lady of the Lake’ sounded like a magic sort of name- or was it a title. Leon also flattered himself that he was familiar with most of Albion’s secular authorities- by name or sobriquet.

Did Leon confess his ignorance in hopes of gaining more information? Did he press the messenger to yield her charge? Did he defer it all until the morning? The only serious answer to these questions was no. Leon had known almost as soon as the situation had been explained that he would end by waking Arthur. People did not casually demand an audience with the King in the middle of the night and Leon subscribed to the maxim that it was better to be safe than sorry. 

“Please wait here.” 

Leon had gone to Arthur and then been sent to Merlin. Now he was back. As King and Sorcerer took in the messenger, Leon asked Annabella to please wait outside. After that he found a place for himself along the wall where the messenger could not see him without turning her head but he could still make out something of her face. He let his hand rest on the hilt of his sword. He wasn’t worried- not really, but better to be safe . . .

“My lords.” The messenger curtseyed as Arthur and Merlin entered the room. It might have looked silly as she was wearing trousers but it was graceful enough.

“What’s your name?” Arthur asked. He gave the woman a long appraising look. 

“Nynaeve, my lord.”

“How do we know that you come from the Lady of the Lake?” Merlin demanded. He stood just behind Arthur’s right shoulder and Leon watched him thinking that if there were danger Merlin would be the first to perceive it.

“Lord Merlin, I was told to tell you: Freya sends her love.” Nynaeve answered.

“Just Merlin.” Merlin murmured color creeping into his face. He felt self-conscious about the message and belatedly he felt self-conscious about interjecting so belligerently. 

“So, Lady Nynaeve, what word from the Lady of the Lake.” Arthur asked but he was watching Merlin blush and his tone was somewhat chillier than he had intended.

“Just Nynaeve, Sire.” Arthur did manage to smile at this but then Nynaeve’s tone grew earnest. “The Lady’s son has been kidnapped. She begs you to help rescue him.”

“Wh-h . . .” Merlin made a sound like he had been hit in the solar plexus. Leon regarded him curiously.

“I was not aware the Lady had a child.” Arthur said neutrally. 

“He is her adopted son, Sire.” Nynaeve clarified. “She found him abandoned and sick with magic. She was caring for him- helping him to recover. She did much the same for me and. . . .” Nynaeve swallowed. “She speaks of us as though we were her children and- for me at least- she has been more a mother than anyone else in my life.”

“What do you mean sick with magic?” Merlin was still gaping at Nynaeve but he seemed to have recovered from his previous shock. A thought struck Leon then and he wondered suddenly. Leon had always assumed . . . But, Merlin was a being of magic. If this Lady of the Lake was also a being of magic . . . well, it made sense and it might explain a few things.

“I don’t understand the nature of my brother’s illness, though I have some little skill in healing.” Merlin just stopped himself from asking about the nature of Nynaeve’s own illness. It occurred to him just in time that that might be an indelicate question.

“Does the Lady know who has kidnapped her son?” Arthur asked. “I will certainly help if I can. How many knights does she think she will need?”

“As long as you come, my lord, it does not matter how few or how many others.”

“Why?” Merlin demanded more harshly than he intended. Leon considered that this was a very fair question. It was not a good time for Arthur to be out of Camelot.

“The Lady did not tell me why. She said only that no rescue was possible without the King. I don’t know how she came to this conclusion and, and she did not tell me who was the kidnapper.” Nynaeve said apologetically and- all three men listening could not help but notice- somewhat evasively.

There was silence while everyone considered. Why was Arthur’s personal attendance necessary for a successful rescue? The only idea Arthur found remotely plausible was that the kidnapper was one of his vassal lords. He couldn’t imagine who could have taken it into his head to do such a thing though. The only other option he could come up with was magic, but magic wasn’t really an explanation at all.

“All right,” Arthur finally said aloud. “Nynaeve, try to get what rest you can and we will leave at first light.”

“Thank you.” Nynaeve spoke on a relieved exhale. Her body sagged with the release of tension. Leon came forward to offer her a steadying arm and lead her toward the door. Annabella was waiting outside and Leon commended the messenger to her care.

“Arthur, this is really not a good time for you to be away from Camelot.” Leon repeated his earlier thought aloud after seeing Nynaeve out. He wished Arthur had said he would think about it rather than just agreeing. Leon caught Merlin’s eye and knew that he and the wizard were in accord.

“It isn’t.” Arthur conceded. The castle was currently filled with knights from kingdoms across Albion. They needed training. They needed to be instructed in the sort of tactics that Arthur thought would be most successful against the Saxons. If an allied force was even going to survive long enough to campaign against the Saxons in the summer than what they needed more than anything was someone to bully them into cooperating with each other. They needed someone to impose some discipline and obedience and yet leave them enough of themselves so that they could learn from one another. Molding this force of allied knights was the first step in Arthur’s plan for the future. He had dreamed about it for a long time. “But, it can’t be helped.”

“With respect, yes, it can.” Leon spoke firmly. “You don’t need to do this.”

“You really don’t, Sire.” Merlin seconded. This put Arthur off-balance. He had expected that Merlin would be eager to see the Lady of the Lake.

“You want to ignore a plea for help?” Arthur was incredulous.

“No, of course not.” Merlin shook his head vigorously. “Just send me instead. Some knights too if you want to be thorough.” Merlin added this last as though he were making a great concession.

“Were you not listening to the part where it has to be me?” Of course Merlin wanted to solve it by himself. How often had Arthur been nothing but a hindrance on their quests.

Merlin squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “I can’t think of any reason why you would need to be there yourself.”

“So who do you think was lying, Nynaeve or the Lady of the Lake?” Arthur put his hands on his hips and frowned. Merlin’s obvious reluctance hurt even though Arthur understood it. He knew how useless he had been on so many of their adventures. That knowledge scalded him. And there was nothing Arthur could ever do to completely erase it. 

Even so, Merlin had to know that Arthur could not hide behind him forever. Arthur had committed to making magic a part of his kingdom. Arthur couldn’t just legalize magic, invite a few Druids for a visit, host a magic market and imagine that that was all there was to it. If Arthur didn’t at least make an effort when he was being asked for help then what message was he really sending?

In truth, the fact that the Lady of the Lake was asking for help filled him with unexpected gratitude. It endeared her to him in a way a hundred favors granted never could. Arthur had to try to help her and not just to keep his word about treating those with magic (even very powerful magic) fairly. Arthur owed the Lady of the Lake. He would not forego an opportunity to help her. And who knew, if he were successful then might not that pave the way to some sort of alliance? Arthur had to try.

“Neither. I think one or the other must have misunderstood.” Merlin could not understand why Freya had not come to him and why she had not better informed her messenger. 

He had been taken off-guard by the idea that Freya should have children, adopted or otherwise. When forced to think about it though he had to admit that he had no idea how Freya occupied her time. She was there when he needed her and when he didn’t . . . but even if they did not spend a great deal of time together there was a connection between them. It had begun with pity and infatuation and changed into something else- something that did not lend itself to ready definition. Friendship might come closest but that word described so many things that it didn’t really describe anything. Freya could rely on Merlin to find some way to help her though- some way that did not involve taking Arthur from where he was needed and drawing him into a situation that might not only be dangerous but might also expose Arthur to further examples of evil magic.

“Look, we’ll just go and see. If I’m not needed I’ll come right back. It will be a few days at the most.” Arthur said feeling as though he were being extraordinarily reasonable. He had already started to consider that this short venture might prove a good opportunity to give a few of his more promising men a chance to hone their leadership skills in his absence. 

“And if you are needed but the rescue seems likely to need more time, days, weeks, what then?” Merlin asked still hesitant.

Arthur shrugged his shoulders. “Then we will reassess.” 

Neither Merlin nor Leon looked happy but Arthur would not let their disapproval discourage him. He was doing what he needed to do.  
*  
“I feel indebted to her. I know that whatever favors she has done us have been for Merlin’s sake but I can’t help but feel as though we could be allies.” Arthur explained to Guinevere. He had just had this discussion with Merlin and Leon but there wasn’t any way around having it again. In Arthur’s absence more work would inevitably fall on Gwen’s shoulders so it was especially important to him that she understand his reasoning. “Sorcerers, magical beings don’t generally need anything from me, Gwen. It seems unkind to see this as an opportunity but it is.”

Gwen sighed. If the message was genuine then she could not fault Arthur for wanting to go. It just seemed so odd. “Well, she did keep Excalibur safe.” Gwen was trying to let herself be convinced.

“I did also kill her. That’s got to be worth something. One doesn’t usually get a second chance with someone after that.”

“You did the right thing then.” Gwen said firmly. “Even if she was just a poor girl under a curse, she was still mauling the townspeople. It was your duty to stop her.”

“I know. It was the right thing but that doesn’t make it feel any better. I’d like to think I would have tried to help her then, had I known. But, I honestly don’t know what I would have done.” Arthur often wondered how things would have been different if he had known about even a part of the magic that had happened right under his nose. He hoped he would have found some way to temper the worst of Uther’s excesses; that he would have balanced legitimate concern over magic’s dangers with reason and compassion. That was what he hoped but he would never know. 

“Is it still her, do you think?” Gwen asked. Apparently the young woman who had transformed into a bastet was now transformed into some sort of water spirit. 

“Not entirely, I don’t think. I only know what Merlin has said. You could ask him but I’m not sure if he really understands it either.” 

So many strange things had happened. Arthur wasn’t sure he would ever fully process it. Merlin had told him everything though and Arthur was glad everything had been revealed. It would be miserable to learn about all these details one-by-one as the years went by. It would be like having a scab slowly, slowly peeled back- making sure that every deception was given its full measure of grief before he started to hurt over the next one. Arthur had then told Gwen everything- almost everything- because she was Queen and she ought to know.

“Does he ever talk about her?” Arthur asked. Early morning was a time for melancholy.

“I have never heard him speak of her.” Gwen took Arthur’s hand and held it in both her own. “But, with Merlin that could mean anything.”

Arthur nodded. “Are you happy, Guinevere?” Gwen took a moment to catch up with the abrupt topic change but then she smiled.

“Yes.” She pressed Arthur’s hand to her cheek letting him feel the word, letting him feel her smile.

“You don’t sometimes feel that there is something- maybe someone . . . that we lost.” Arthur was ashamed of this feeling. He had Guinevere, his beloved wife and Queen. He had Merlin. And there was no word for what Merlin was to him. He had his knights who were his family. He had Camelot and yet something had been denied to them, something that was theirs by right.

“We’ve all made sacrifices and we’ve all lost people, Arthur, people we loved, people who can never be replaced. It is the way the world works.”

“Yes, I know. But . . . it just feels like somewhere I made a mistake.” Arthur smiled ruefully. He had made a lot of mistakes but this felt different. “It just feels like we had something or we could have had something and it slipped away- not because it was inevitable but because . . . I don’t know, because we weren’t paying attention or we were cheated or . . .”

“When I was just a girl,” Gwen’s mind had gone to Morgana as Arthur spoke. She supposed it made some sense that the Lady of the Lake should take Arthur’s thoughts in that direction. “I thought that there would be three of us: you, me and Morgana. Of course I knew I wasn’t important but I was with Morgana and everyone knew that you and Morgana were going to be married. So, it would be the three of us.”

“Did everyone know that?”

Gwen shrugged. “Maybe not. But I just sort of took it for granted.”

“That must have been unpleasant. You didn’t like me very much then and you had no reason to.”

“It didn’t matter if I liked you or not.” Gwen hadn’t completely disliked Arthur then but she had had the habit of adopting Morgana’s opinions and attitudes and it had pleased Morgana to criticize Arthur at any opportunity. “But, then Merlin came and it was right. He’d been the missing piece that no one knew was missing. It was going to be the four of us from then on.”

“And would the four of us have adventures?” Arthur asked fondly.

“Maybe- we did have a few.” Gwen’s tone suggested that if Arthur intended to tease her about this then he needed to be very, very gentle about it. “I thought I might marry Merlin. He wasn’t like anyone I had ever known.”

“And there was a nice symmetry.” Arthur knew Merlin and Gwen were very close friends but he viewed their potential marriage with the same skepticism with which he had always viewed his potential marriage to Morgana. He did recall, however, the profound irritation he had felt when it seemed as though Merlin was drawn to Morgana.

“Yes. But, I don’t think the idea so much as crossed Merlin’s mind.” Gwen said amused. Merlin had never shown any interest in any sort of romance which was why the story of Freya had been somewhat surprising. “Anyway that was never really important. It was still the four of us.”

“Time passed, though. I- I grew to very much like you.” Color touched Gwen’s cheeks. “And Morgana started slipping away. I won’t say that there was nothing we could have done because that’s not true. We could have all done better by Morgana but that doesn’t begin to justify what she did. She wants to hurt us all so much but she doesn’t understand that she did her damage when she left us.”

“We should have been four but we are three. That is a terrible loss because the four of us .. . .” Gwen allowed that thought to go unfinished. “But maybe it would never have worked anyway. Morgana had all your pride but none of your forgiveness. She had Merlin’s resolve but none of his selflessness.”

“Your understanding of a person’s vulnerabilities but none of your compassion.” Arthur added.

Gwen lowered her eyes at the compliment. “She left us but we are enough without her.” Gwen did not go on to say that maybe they were even better off. After everything that sentiment still felt disloyal.

Arthur closed his eyes. “I just want you to be happy. I want Merlin to be happy. I am afraid sometimes . . .” Arthur did not know how to go on. He did not know what he feared or why that fear had chosen this moment to overwhelm him.

“I am happy. Merlin is too. He would tell you if you asked him.”

Arthur swallowed and rubbed at the skin of his forehead and along the bridge of his nose. He still felt beset with a strange uneasiness but he could not afford to spend more time seeking comfort. 

There was a great deal to do and little time to prepare the people whose duties would be most affected by his departure. Taking Gwen’s hand, the King and Queen went to join Kay, Lamorak, Bors and others of the Court to plan for Arthur’s absence. He had good people- the very best. Everything would be managed efficiently. The story would be that Arthur had gone to lend support a friend on a personal matter. This was more-or-less the truth but people would enjoy speculating about what that meant precisely. Arthur hoped that whatever emerged as the consensus wouldn’t be too salacious.  
*  
Percival tried to restrain his eagerness as he checked over his horse. He was very pleased to be getting out of the castle even though the day was grey and the clouds threatened rain. The foreign knights were a nuisance. It didn’t directly affect Percival because people went out of their way not to annoy someone his size but he saw that they were unruly, fractious, self-important, glory-hungry, pompous and entitled. In the past Percival might have been inclined to apply one or more of these adjectives to some of Camelot’s knights but now he understood what a disciplined and courteous group of people he had been interacting with.

It would get better of course as their training went on. In time, Percival suspected that he might come to regard some of these supercilious popinjays as comrades or even friends once the rigors of training and campaign battered down some of their arrogance. For now, though, Percival was ecstatic for any respite. He was not the only one either. The allied knights were almost custom made to aggravate every one of Gawain’s nerves. He had thus far shown remarkable restraint in his dealings with them but Percival was glad for his friend’s sake that they would have this time away.

Thinking of Gawain, Percival scanned the yard until he spotted him. He was holding his horse’s bridle and staring intently. Following the direction of Gawain’s eyes, Percival saw that Gawain was watching the woman who had brought the message that was the cause of this trip. She was nervously stroking her own mount as a groomsman gave her instructions. Nynaeve had been lent Duchess, which was a good indication that the lady had little previous riding experience. Gawain’s appreciative gaze was aimed directly at the woman’s backside. Percival felt his heart sink a little.

“Gawain, do us a favor and don’t give that poor girl a hard time.” Percival asked going to stand at Gawain’s shoulder. Gawain’s dedication to amorous pursuits was the stuff of legend. That was all well and good and Percival did not begrudge Gawain such a ready outlet for his energies but there was a time and a place.

“Most girls insist on a hard time sooner or later.” Gawain did not tear his eyes from Nynaeve but he threw an elbow in Percival’s general direction.

“Right, you’re a stallion. Just . . .” Before Percival could find the words he wanted, Gawain did look up at him.

“Do you fancy her yourself, you old dog? I’m sorry, but all’s fair in love and war- though I’m feeling generous so I’ll give you a head start.”

“I wouldn’t dare try to compete with you.” Percival said on a sigh but the corners of his mouth tugged upward. 

“Sensible, sensible.” Gawain radiated good-natured bravado. 

“But, remember, she’s by herself on a journey with six strange men. She might not appreciate being propositioned.” 

“So you’re saying you really do have your eye on her then?” Gawain said with a wink. 

Percival sighed again. It was very possible that Gawain would refrain from chatting up Nynaeve but Percival couldn’t always predict what Gawain would do. Gawain ought to know without needing to be told to tread lightly in this kind of situation. He hadn’t always been a knight. Didn’t he remember how hard it was for those of a lesser rank to escape from unwanted attention? He ought to know, but as much as Percival liked Gawain and valued him as a friend he was sometimes disappointed by Gawain’s occasional boorishness and deliberate resistance to well-intentioned criticism.

At his worst Gawain bucked authority because it was authority- never mind how much pride he was slowly learning to take from his knighthood. He took any attempt to moderate his behavior or rein him in as encouragement to greater excess. He would make a joke of anything and then refuse to care about how those jokes made anyone feel. It was frustrating because Gawain was capable of great sensitivity and consideration. His attention often genuinely did make the recipient feel special. He was brave, loyal and generally easygoing. His faults weren’t even really faults except that he took them to extremes.

Percival might have tried one more time to caution Gawain against crowding the Lady of the Lake’s messenger but the expedition was ready to begin.  
*  
Minutes after they started out, rain began to fall in a persistent drizzle. Merlin was uncomfortable as his clothes were becoming increasingly damp but he consoled himself that at least he wasn’t wearing armor. The satisfaction of this knowledge lasted only until Merlin realized what a tedious task it was going to be to clean Arthur’s armor later. 

The idea briefly crossed Merlin’s mind that there might be something he could do to coax a little sunshine from the grey sky but he abandoned that idea almost as soon as he had it. Weather was not the sort of thing the intelligent warlock involved himself in lightly. Sighing he used his neckerchief to wipe away the accumulating moisture on his face.

“What was that?” Merlin called suddenly drawing his brows down in concentration. He had seen something flash through the trees in the distance.

“Could have been a fox?” Percival answered squinting.

“I don’t think so. It didn’t move like a fox.” Merlin said. “Wait . . . there! See? A flash of red?”

“I didn’t see anything.” Elyan said pulling his horse around to face the direction Merlin was pointing.

“Since when do you notice the wildlife?” Arthur asked curious but not derisive.

“I usually don’t.” Merlin agreed and the fact that he had noticed was part of what made him nervous. “I don’t know. It’s just something about how it moves.”

“I think it’s a fox.” Percival repeated with more conviction after the second sighting.

“Do you want to investigate?” Arthur asked. Merlin turned sharply to see if he was being made fun of but Arthur was only regarding him quizzically. For some reason that look made Merlin’s face heat. He turned away quickly.

“No. No, Percival is probably right. Just a fox. We should keep going.”

Arthur continued to watch Merlin for a few moments but then he shrugged. “All right. Let’s move on. Look sharp everyone and speak up if you see anything out of the ordinary.”

The company stopped briefly at midmorning to give the horses a break. Percival adjusted Nynaeve’s saddle- she wasn’t having an easy time of it. While they were resting Elyan asked about the Lady of the Lake. He understood that she was some sort of sorceress but he was fuzzy on any details. Merlin and Nynaeve were instantly the centers of attention. Percival noticed that Gawain had not pressed up against Nynaeve as the close quarters might have given him an excuse to do. Percival smiled and told himself that he really ought to have given his friend more credit. 

“The Lady is more than a sorceress.” Nynaeve began, happy to talk if it kept her off the horse and under a sheltering tree branch just a little longer. “She is a spirit of the Land. Well, I suppose, she’s a spirit of the water but the lake is a part of the Land. She is the greatest power within her own domain and she shares an affinity with other guardians and spirits of the Land. Her power diminishes quickly outside her realm. She is bound to her lake.”

“Is that why she can’t go after the kidnappers?” Elyan asked. He was always happy when sense could be made of strange events.

“I believe so.”

“So, you aren’t a spirit of the land yourself or you couldn’t have come to Camelot. You are a- a typical sorceress?”

“I am trying to learn healing magic.” Nynaeve answered eyes modestly downcast. “I’d like to learn the science of healing as well but I don’t want to leave the lake. It’s- it’s peaceful there.”  
*  
They were about an hour away from the lake when the spitting rain became a sudden downpour. Arthur called a halt for the driving rain was blinding. If Nynaeve had not been with them he would have been tempted to push on but he didn’t want to risk an accident. Everyone was struggling but Nynaeve was clearly overwhelmed. She reminded Arthur of Merlin’s first attempts to ride a horse. The memory made him smile and perhaps it also inclined him to go easier with Nynaeve than he had gone with Merlin. 

Merlin could be as lithe and quick as a deer and in the next instant he would trip over his own feet. After the revelation of Merlin’s magic, Arthur had waited for the clumsiness to disappear as an artifact of his disguise. Yet, Merlin had remained as he was, alternately graceful and ungainly as fickle chance decreed. It had been a strangely powerful relief to Arthur that Merlin’s awkward elegance was unfeigned.

“So, why does the Lady of the Lake need Arthur specifically?” Elyan asked Nynaeve as he took a mouthful of bread that was growing soggy even as he stuffed it in his mouth. They were huddled close together under a tarp. Nynaeve’s earlier willingness to talk had emboldened the young knight enough that he felt comfortable asking more questions. Despite the miserable weather Elyan was excited to be on this little jaunt. 

“I don’t know.” Nynaeve had been asked this many times. She knew it made the men from Camelot uneasy and suspicion but she trusted her lady to have a perfectly good reason- even if no one else could guess at such a reason.

“Well, let’s think this out.” Gawain had a glimmer in his eye. “What are Arthur’s more unique qualities? Hmm” Gawain tapped his chin and pretended to ponder. “He’s profoundly unsympathetic to the plight of a poor man affected with a terrible hangover during morning trainings. He has the supernatural stamina to listen to boring, long-winded, dusty old men for hours at a time but will start yelling like a cheated banshee at the least little thing he doesn’t like when he is with much more charming companions.” 

“Don’t forget excessively lenient with lippy subordinates who are under the mistaken impression that they are witty.” Arthur smiled. Sometimes Gawain needled him into genuine anger but generally the teasing was mild and friendly.

“No, I just don’t see how any of that gets us any closer to an explanation.” Gawain said. “Come on, Arthur. There’s got to be something special about you.”

“It doesn’t readily appear so.” Arthur spoke matter-of-factly because honestly it didn’t. The King gave Gawain a pat on the shoulder to make it clear that the teasing did not bother him. Arthur was pleased with Gawain thus far today. Over the last few weeks everyone had been busy either with Magic Market Day, the allied knights or both. And so Gawain had not had as much time and attention from his friends as he was accustomed to. He had become increasingly obstreperous as a result. More than once Arthur had thought he would have to say something harsher than he really liked to keep the man from causing trouble.

The hard ride in miserable weather though appeared to have replenished Gawain’s spirits. The knight was much more himself- adventurous rather than reckless, pleasantly cheerful rather aggressively so and teasing rather than insulting. This was a weight off Arthur’s shoulders. He liked the way Gawain seemed to fit so perfectly together with Leon, Elyan and Percival. Gawain added a dash of levity- even frivolity to the group which might otherwise have been lacking. But, the knights Arthur kept as his closest companions needed to be more than excellent fighters. Arthur needed to trust that his men would know when it was time to dispense with levity and frivolity. It wasn’t just in battle or other physically dangerous circumstances when diplomacy, subtly and perception were called for. Arthur needed his companions to take the measure of a situation and respond accordingly. In his more reflective moments, Arthur was aware that he was asking for a lot.

“Maybe whatever needs to be done is like the sword.” Leon had also been trying to come up with a legitimate reason to explain the Lady of the Lake’s request even as he tried to ignore the increasingly sodden state of his boots. “Maybe there is magic involved that will only give way for the true King.” Leon felt that for a man who did not understand magic he had done quite well to make this connection but Arthur was looking at him with a mix of regret and sadness.

“I’m so sorry, Leon. That was just a, just a trick.” Arthur swallowed and shook his head. “It was all Merlin’s magic. I should have told you as soon as I knew but other things . . .. Anyway, it was wrong of me to let you believe that it was something real. I’m sorry. I hope . . .. I’ll understand if . . ..” Arthur trailed off. He had felt like such a fool when Merlin had told him about that whole contrivance with Excalibur. He was ashamed to have been so eager to believe such codswallop but while it was one thing to be a fool it was surely a worse thing to make fools of his friends, his people. Arthur remembered seeing Leon’s expression as he held Excalibur aloft- Leon’s eyes had held such utter faith . . . but Arthur had gained that faith by fraud- fraud he’d been too stupid to know he was committing.

“It doesn’t matter.” Leon tried to smile but his face felt like it was too stiff to change expression. Arthur offered a sad smile of his own. Leon was a loyal man but of course it mattered.

There was quiet for half a minute before Gawain launched into a story about the last time he was caught in a thunderstorm and how he saw lightning strike a tree right next to him. The rain had already begun to ease as Gawain started talking and the sudden cloudburst ended before he finished. The group emerged gratefully from their shelter.

“Leon?” Merlin said softly. The Sorcerer came up to Leon side as everyone was remounting. “I swear no one else could have pulled that sword from the stone but Arthur. The magic, my magic . . . No one else could have done it.”

“Do you think I don’t know that, Merlin?” Leon turned, angry and a little breathless but he caught hold of himself almost immediately. He tried for a smile but there was a helplessness to it. He touched Merlin’s shoulder as though to apologize for his temper then turned back to his horse. “It’s not important.”

His boots squelched in the stirrup as Leon heaved himself up into the saddle and pulled his horse into line. Leon’s heart weighed heavy in his chest. He was reconciled with magic returning to Camelot. He now knew that in some ways it had never left. Leon was coming to terms with his changing world. Lifting the ban, slowly integrating magic into daily life, on full consideration those were good things. Yes, on the whole, Leon could be put down for ‘cautiously optimistic.’ 

But, change did not come easy. When Arthur found out about Merlin’s magic he shattered. He had done it mostly in private but anyone close to him could see that he’d been broken to bits. Leon, who was closer than most, almost shattered to see it. In the end, Arthur put himself back together somehow. Now forgiveness and reconciliation were the order of the day. For who among them had not stood on both sides of great wrong? It was time to look to the future not the past. 

Huzzah the new day.

The past, however, reached ever forward grasping at the future. The reminders had to be constant. Did Arthur think about being lied to every time he drew his sword? Leon hoped not but he could not help but see that Arthur had rewritten many of his memories of success and achievement into memories of deceit and humiliation. Arthur could have pulled a fork from a pudding and it would have been sign enough for Leon. But Arthur was too wary of being lured into an unjustified self-confidence to believe that now. It made Leon sick with fury- a fury which was all the greater for having no proper object. It was nobody’s fault . . . or maybe it was everybody’s fault. Either way there was no convenient villain. No one for Leon to battle. No evil sorcerer . . . Leon smiled ruefully and looked up to watch Merlin.

Merlin.

Merlin confused Leon mightily. He was so close to Arthur and Leon could not help but regard that as normal and natural even though he did not completely understand it. Merlin had become such an essential part of life in Camelot that Leon could not really remember what it had been like before him. 

But there were times now when Leon didn’t know how to act around Merlin. Leon was keenly aware that it was not his place to judge the sorcerer. He didn’t have enough information to judge but more fundamentally Merlin possessed so much power that he could not be judged by ordinary standards. So, Leon withheld his own judgment and tried to accord Merlin as much deference as he would any creature or force who held so much more power than himself. 

Merlin would not seem to let Leon treat him as strange and powerful though. He insisted on being Merlin, much as he had always been except that he had allowed the mantle of partial idiocy and semi-competence to slip from him. Leon could never entirely forget Merlin’s power but often he found himself soothed into something close to their old camaraderie. That in itself was sometimes Leon’s greatest source of confusion when it came to Merlin.

Leon was not nearly so confused when it came to Emrys. Leon understood all he needed to understand of Emrys. The sorcerer had come to Camelot’s aid but his ultimate allegiance was to his own- possibly sinister- agenda. While Emrys had protected Camelot he had done so in such a way that he kept Camelot from being able to learn from experience and thus protect itself. Take the griffon, for example. A magical creature terrorizes the kingdom. What is to be done? Gaius explains that only magic can destroy this creature. Yet the griffon is apparently killed by mundane means. What lesson might a reasonable person draw in the circumstances: First, Gaius doesn’t know what he is talking about and his advice isn’t worth much. Second, the best strategy when faced with a magical threat is to keep banging away at it with an ordinary sword and lance and determination will eventually win the day. Third, Magic does evil and no good. This lesson was repeated over years with casualties added to taste. No, Leon wasn’t confused at all about what he thought of Emrys.

The problem was that Emrys was also Merlin and Merlin was Emrys. Unlike Emrys, Leon liked Merlin. He felt for him. He trusted him. He had a glimmer of what it had cost Merlin to hide his essential nature from his friends- from Arthur. Leon wasn’t sure that he could have done it. Leon did not think he could undersell his abilities or play the idiot in front of someone he respected and whose respect he wanted. It must have left scars- to appear useless to someone he loved. Leon shivered again. He had to respect such a fierce commitment. So, he could leave Emrys aside except when he was needed and accept Merlin. He could, he thought with sudden determination, let Merlin be Merlin.

Leon was so lost in thought that he did not notice they had reached their destination until they stopped. Abashed at his inattention he made a survey of his surroundings. They had emerged from the forest onto a long beach. The water lapped gently at the land. It was the middle of the afternoon and the sun had finally emerged to light the glistening earth. The lake’s surface reflected the sun’s brightness in splinters of almost blinding light. The scene felt preternatural but that sense might have been heightened by Leon’s expectations and the odd quiet of the world after a heavy rain. It was beautiful.

The knights followed Nynaeve who had clambered off her horse with palpable relief. She led them toward a rudely constructed cottage that stood at the edge of the forest where the wood came up near the shore. She promised they could care for their horses while Arthur and Merlin met with the Lady. Leon wasn’t sure how he felt about that but it wasn’t his decision and there was something about the lake that seemed to have a calming effect. Arthur and Merlin headed straight across the sand to the water’s edge. 

As Arthur and Merlin approached, the surface of the water began to shimmer with more than the sun’s light. As they drew nearer a figure began to emerge. The light was too bright for Arthur to see any details but he kept up his steady pace beside Merlin. He had decided a while back that in order to deal with magic and stay sane he couldn’t let the stagecraft put him off-balance. After a few more steps a woman stood at the water’s edge. Arthur and Merlin drew to a halt at a few yards distance.

Arthur recognized the Lady of the Lake from a dream he sometimes had where she appeared with Guinevere, Morgana and Igraine. It was both surprising and not surprising that the dream’s image of the Lady of the Lake should look like the actual Lady of the Lake. Of course, Arthur didn’t believe the actual Lady of the Lake visited his dreams any more than he believed his dead mother or his hating sister did. It was odd, no denying that. But, as nothing of consequence happened in these dreams and he found them soothing rather than distressing Arthur didn’t see any upside to mentioning them to anyone. A man was not answerable for the things he dreamed.

“Arthur Pendragon.” The Lady greeted with a small dip of her head. Her black hair and purple dress looked wet but the rest of her seemed dry.

“Lady of the Lake.” Arthur returned with a small nod of his own.

Then the Lady turned to Merlin and her serene countenance changed into a bright smile. “My dear Merlin.” For a moment Arthur thought the Lady might reach to take Merlin’s hand but she did not. He wondered why. Then he wondered why he would notice either way.

“Freya.” Merlin too was smiling. The moment between them stretched. Arthur let it go for as long as he could stand. It turned out not to be all that long.

“May we be of some service to you, Lady of the Lake?” Arthur didn’t know if he had meant himself and Merlin? The knights? Maybe he had meant the royal we? That could have been it. The Lady had made a point of asking for him specifically. Yet, she would have known Merlin would come too, wouldn’t she.

“My son has been kidnapped.” The Lady of the Lake addressed both of them now and there were lines of stress on her forehead that didn’t look like they belonged there. “Please, bring him back.”

“We will help if we can but you must tell us what happened. Who kidnapped him? Where is he being held? Has the kidnapper demanded a ransom?” What sort of being are you? Why do you need me when you’ve got Merlin?

“Some background would be useful, Freya.” Merlin’s voice was soft and reassuring.

“Yes. All right.” The Lady agreed and something of her former serenity returned. “When I found him he was nearly dead. He had been half frozen but that was not the worst of it. It was as though his mind had been drowned in magic. He had only fragments of memory left.”

“This is meant to be a place of healing.” The Lady spread her arms. “The land, the water yearns to fulfill its purpose and sometimes wounded souls are drawn here. Can you feel it, Arthur, the purpose of this place?”

“I cannot. Though, I am glad for those who can and are thus able to find aid.” Arthur answered a little formally. If he was here because she expected him to be able to feel things this wasn’t going to go well.

“Perhaps in time . . .” The Lady smiled and went on, “I wished to help the wounded creature for my heart was moved by pity. So, Nynaeve and I took him in and nursed him- I had found Nynaeve months before with her own wounds.”

“He recovered physically but a mind and a spirit take longer to mend. We tried to keep him with Nynaeve when he would roam from the shore but he was restless. He spent most of his time wandering the woods. I did not worry over much. I know what happens in my domain and I saw no threat.”

“Weeks ago I grew aware of a woman’s presence in the forest but I took no special notice. I should have done but I did not sense very much magic in her and I did not expect a woman to be a threat.” The Lady smiled ruefully. “Four days ago there was an eruption of magic and the woman and my son were gone.”

“What happened?” Merlin asked all his sympathies engaged.

“I was not immediately sure.” The Lady confessed. “But I can . . . There is information- knowledge- wisdom within the water, within in the memories of my . . . of my many selves. It is sometimes difficult. The magic . . . the magic wanders. It cannot find its way. It roams further and further.” Freya’s words had started to wander as well and she looked out sorrowfully into nothing for a moment then shook her head. “I finally was able to see that the woman used a spell- a spell I am certain was beyond her making- that created a world.”

“A world?” Arthur was starting to struggle. He told himself it was all right not to understand every nuance if he could get the gist but in the last few sentences the discussion had completely gotten away from him.

“A place made by a complicated mix of magic and mind. Imagine if a dream could be given a physical reality and yet remain a dream.” Words could not readily accommodate what the Lady wanted to describe. She was able to create for Merlin something akin to a schematic of the magics involved. It was a very general overview but the Lady could tell by his expression that the sorcerer was gaining a sense of what was involved. Arthur would have to make do with words.

“So she took your son into a dream?” Arthur wondered if that sounded as silly to the others as it did in his own head.

“In a way.” The Lady said fighting the urge to qualify the analogy in ways unlikely to lead to greater understanding. “I cannot follow. My magic, my existence is bound to the lake. But, I can create a way into that world though I do not know what awaits on the other side.”

“I think I understand.” Strangely Merlin did think he understood. Freya was doing something and to Merlin it felt as though he were experiencing a faint echo of the magic she described. “But, none of this explains why you sent for Arthur. I could go in by myself or with a few of the knights.”

“As I tried to figure out what had happened and what could be done a vision came to me. If Arthur does not go into the magic world I will never see my son again.” The Lady’s voice imbued the words with the weight of prophecy. “When I understood all that I could I asked Nynaeve to go to Camelot. She was reluctant to leave the safety of the Lake but she loves her brother and I had no other way to send a message. It was a very brave thing for her to do. The world beyond this sanctuary has not been kind to her.”

Arthur nodded at this last but he felt fretful. He would have preferred to have a better explanation or at least a better idea of what, specifically, he was expected to do. The Lady had reaffirmed that he was necessary, important but she could not articulate a reason. It was always prophecy mumble mumble destiny mumble. It made Arthur both nervous and depressed. He did not have magic nor did he not want it but he could not shake the feeling that some kind of magic was expected of him. His great fear was that there was nothing he could do here; that whatever the Lady saw in him was really only the reflection of something of Merlin’s. Arthur couldn’t do so much as- well- so much as pull a sword from a stone without help. So, the question Gawain had asked in semi-jest mattered very much: what mortal talent of Arthur’s could possibly be useful here? Arthur could think of no better explanation than Gawain had.

“I am not sure that I can do what you ask of me, Lady of the Lake.” Arthur said honestly. “But, I will try.”

“Wait.” Merlin couldn’t see how he could let Arthur enter a magical dream realm to confront some child-stealing harpy. It was too dangerous. Merlin respected Arthur. He was almost in awe of him sometimes- though just try and catch him admitting that. Arthur was the King. There was no one braver, no one more generous. Merlin felt the truth of all of that in his bones and yet for all of Arthur’s strengths he had a vulnerability- magic. Merlin’s role was to see that no one took advantage of that vulnerability. “Freya, another world? That is . . . a great deal to ask. We could spend weeks, months in a fruitless search.”

“No time shall pass while you are away- or at least very little, as in a dream.” Freya’s eyes entreated.

“Good. I’ll collect the knights.” Before Merlin could launch into a reprise of the argument they had had in Camelot Arthur turned and headed off to retrieve his knights. He wondered briefly if there was any point in bringing horses into a dreamworld but decided there probably wasn’t. He would leave them then and spare the loyal beasts any potential trauma.

“Let me try first, Freya.” Merlin said the moment Arthur was out of earshot. “I can get this sorted for you. What can Arthur do in an entirely magic world? This isn’t the sort of thing he is meant for.” 

“There is no way that I have misinterpreted my vision. The magic is not always perfectly reliable but in this I am sure. My son cannot be rescued unless Arthur goes to find him. I would not ask this if I thought it was impossible.” Freya told him firmly. There was silence between them for several moments. Then Freya said, “It’s good to see you, Merlin.”

“It’s good to see you too.” Merlin admitted. It was good to see Freya. Merlin had not exactly missed her. He had not thought about her enough to miss her. That sounded unkind but Merlin had always had a great deal to do and his friendship with Freya was not the sort that suffered in long absences. Truthfully, the infrequency of their meetings made those meetings special. They were better friends at a distance somehow. “I’m glad you’re making a family.”

“I can just imagine your face when you heard.” Freya laughed softly. The situation was very serious but the thought of Merlin’s incredulous expression upon hearing of her children delighted Freya.

“Well, I just knew that we never . . . and you died. . . ..” Merlin’s face colored and he smiled in embarrassment.

Freya laughed again but then she grew solemn. “What of you, Merlin?” She reached out her hand to his. It was warm.

“Well, it’s not the conventional sort either but I have my family too.” Merlin smiled proudly. Gwen was like a sister to him. The knights were his packmates. Arthur was his . . . Well, there was nowhere to go from there that did not lead to trouble. The main point was that he was loved and accepted by those that he loved and accepted.

“I’m glad.” Freya said. “You have such a heavy destiny, Merlin. You deserve as much happiness as you can get.”

Merlin was touched by Freya’s concern. He was happy- very happy. 

That was not to say, of course, that a happy person could not have occasional moments of sorrow or frustration or regret or guilt. Such things did not negate his general condition of happiness. A bit of denied gratification was in no way inconsistent with happiness and probably built character. There were also plenty of things worth doing, worth having that required that happiness be briefly set aside. The larger idea was that Merlin was immensely satisfied with his life and if he might occasionally wish that some things could be just a little different; if there were just one or two things he would give anything to do over again- well, that was in the nature of things. He might have tried to say something of this to Freya but Arthur was returning with the knights and there was work to be done.  
*


	3. Chapter 3

With one step Arthur, Merlin and the knights moved from a rain washed afternoon in early spring to a gloriously bright summer morning. Gawain took in great lungfuls of fragrant air and gave in to the urge to stretch his arms out wide. He looked up at the sky to feel the sun on his face and arms.

“Well, I must say I’m pleasantly surprised.” Elyan said as he surveyed the meadow of wildflowers they were standing in. “When Arthur said we were going to a dreamworld created by a kidnapping sorceress I figured that we would end up in a bog, cold and wet with thick fog and sinkholes. Maybe with some ominous wailing in the distance.”

“It just goes to show, even the evil and the crazy can appreciate good weather.” Gawain said. He could hear birds singing and there were butterflies flittering about amid the flowers.

“It always starts out calm and pleasant. Just wait, though. In a minute the sky will darken as something truly nasty rises up to loom over us. Then there will be earthquakes and you won’t be able to move no matter how hard you try.” Percival said squeezing his sword hilt in agitation.

“Let’s have a look around while it’s still pleasant. Merlin, is that portal going to stay where it is?” Arthur asked looking at the silver blur that had brought them here.

“Yes. There’s no way to close it on this side. We should be all right.” This was all as new to Merlin as it was to the others but he did his best to reassure. As he looked around his attention was less caught by the idyllic scene than by the fact that he was standing in a completely magical world. 

Everything was made and molded from magic. It was overwhelming. Outside- in the real world- there wasn’t very much that was pure unadulterated magic. Even magical creatures were an alloy. Merlin found himself needing to focus on Arthur and the knights to rest his eyes so to speak.

“Fine. Let’s see what we can see from up there.” Arthur ordered pointing in the direction of a small hill.

Gawain found he was almost skipping. He might have broken out into song but he knew the others would complain. Gawain could even concede that remaining alert was a good idea but Percival was being far too gloomy. Even if things went to hell in the next minute, this minute was lovely. On the heels of that thought though, Gawain realized that Percival was probably worried about the child they had come to rescue. Gawain was worried too of course even if he might have preferred- all else being equal- that the lovely Freya had asked them to rescue a bevy of her sisters.

He might also have preferred if the culprit wasn’t a woman. If Gawain had ever entertained the fantasy that a sleek villainess made for a more exciting adventure Morgana had cured him of it. As it turned out not even the most exquisite packaging could make violence and cruelty even a little bit erotic for him. He had brazened his way through it but the time he had spent as Morgana’s toy had left him feeling more degraded than he could have predicted.

Shaking his head to cast off thoughts of Morgana, Gawain replaced them with thoughts of the mysterious and lovely Freya. There was a beautiful woman- a beautiful woman who seemed quite fond of Merlin. Gawain gave the shy sorcerer a mental slap on the back and an elbow in the ribs for good measure. He hoped that after this was all over Merlin and Freya would spend a little time together. It would be good for the young sorcerer. 

For as long as Gawain had known Merlin the man hadn’t shown romantic interest in anyone. It wasn’t that Merlin couldn’t attract his share of the ladies. He had more than a few admirers- not as many as Gawain, obviously. But then, Gawain worked really hard at it and Merlin didn’t. Gawain wasn’t jealous. He just found it sad when people refused to develop their natural talents. One could almost think Merlin wasn’t interested the way he ignored women. Well, he didn’t ignore women. He was amiable and sweet natured. But he didn’t flirt. He did not pursue. He did not even seem to notice when he was being pursued. He treated women like they were just people. And apparently there were women who found being treated like people very attractive.

“Well, what do you know.” Leon said.

Gawain did not immediately know what had prompted this comment because in pausing to pick a dandelion and blow the seeds everywhere and then repeating the process a few times Gawain had fallen a few steps behind the others. Drawn by Leon’s comment Gawain scrambled up the last few paces to the top of the hill and looked out.

“It’s Camelot.” Elyan said as they all stared out at the familiar town and castle.

“No. It’s not.” Arthur spoke more abruptly than he meant.

“Well, it does look like Camelot, Sire.” Elyan clarified with an apologetic smile.

“What does this mean, Merlin?” Arthur asked. He couldn’t tear his eyes from the walls and towers that were so much like his home. Was that a Pendragon banner? Arthur was too far to tell.

“I don’t know, Sire. This is the magical world the spell created. I don’t know why.” Merlin hated not having answers for Arthur’s questions. He knew Arthur didn’t expect him to know everything and the King trusted that if the answer were truly needed then Merlin would find a way to get it for him but Merlin still felt like he was failing in his still comparatively new role as advisor whenever he had to shrug his shoulders and say ‘magic’.

“Do you think the boy is down there?” Percival asked the collective.

“Seems a reasonable place to start looking.” Elyan answered.

After a good hour’s walk the company approached the gate to the lower town. There were people coming and going carrying baskets, pushing handcarts or just chatting in small knots. Merlin didn’t know if he was surprised by this. Probably. But then an empty city would have been strange too.

“Excuse me, sir.” Merlin addressed the gate guard with a wide grin. “Could you tell us where we are? We’ve traveled a long way.”

“You’ve come to Camelot. Welcome. There is no finer city in the world. Anything and everything you could want you will find here. And, if you gentlemen should require lodging I could- Ah but I see you’ve been having a little fun, my lords.” The guard, who had been ready to launch into his tourist spiel, broke off and regarded the knights with mild reproof.

“What? I’m sorry I don’t understand.” Merlin looked around to see if any of the others knew what the guard was alluding to.

“You may have traveled a long way but you’ve come back home again, haven’t you.” The guard gestured toward Arthur and then he gestured more specifically to Arthur’s vambraces. “You forgot you’re wearing the royal insignia. Can’t very well pass for strangers with that, can you.” The guard smiled as though pleased to have seen through their ruse.

“Who rules here?” Arthur asked in a voice that the guard understood was a warning- though a warning as to what he had no way of guessing.

“Good Queen Elaine, my lord. God save her Grace.” The gate guard answered swallowing a little. Arthur’s expression had grown very cold. 

The knight’s clustered nearer to Arthur. Their expressions ranged from Leon’s hard and angry stare to the bemused furrow on Elyan’s brow. Percival’s expression was stoic and Gawain was smiling. But, it was the sort of smile Merlin had seen when the knights were sparring and one man landed a particularly painful blow and the other smiled so no one would think he was hurt. Merlin had instinctively reached out a reassuring hand to touch Arthur’s arm but thought better of it before making contact.

After several seconds of the guard trying desperately to imagine what he might have said wrong Arthur turned abruptly and walked away. 

“Thanks so much for your help.” Merlin called to the guard as he and the other knights scurried after Arthur.

They walked at the pace of a near jog for several minutes before Arthur finally slowed down then stopped.

“None of this real, Sire.” Merlin said as soon as it seemed Arthur would be able to hear him past the steam pouring out of his ears.

“I know. But someone did this. This world could have been anything. Anything you could imagine, right?” Merlin nodded: The world could have been anything. “So, why this? Hmm? Why this?” Arthur had calmed considerably and they could finally get on to having a useful discussion.

“I don’t know.” Merlin said.

“It could be Morgana.” Percival asserted. His hatred of the sorceress was clear in his voice. “She would have no scruples about kidnapping. It might amuse her to make a world like this.”

“I don’t think so. Whoever this Elaine is, she’s got to be the sorceress. Morgana would have no reason to take another name.” Arthur said. He wanted to pace but there was no convenient space in their immediate vicinity.

“This isn’t the kind of Camelot Morgana would make anyway.” Leon said. His lip twisted in a rare display of disgust. “The guard at the gate wasn’t nearly servile enough and the castle would probably be made of diamonds or something.”

“Let’s think about it over a drink.” Gawain suggested hopefully. “I wonder what the Rising Sun will be like? That could be important. Only one way to find out.”

Arthur was eager to go see Queen Elaine but he saw the wisdom of asking a few more questions first and so Gawain ended up getting his way. 

As the group made their way through the familiar streets they began to notice little oddities. They passed a small fountain that Percival swore should have had a stone bench in front of it with carved lions for feet. Then there was a disturbing sameness to the houses. The town had grown up over time and the people of Camelot had put effort into maintaining and decorating their dwellings but all those personal touches were gone. The streets were too narrow in a section of the town where Arthur distinctly remembered an expensive public works project to widen them. They passed what would have been the cooper’s shop in Camelot but what was just another nondescript house here.

The Rising Sun was where it was supposed to be though and Gawain let out a breath of anticipated pleasure. Striding in with his usual jaunty grin Gawain made his way to the bar- the others following in his wake. It was not quite noon and there were a moderate number of patrons sitting at the tables and milling about.

“Bartolf, old fellow!” Gawain was acquainted with the tavern keeper and he fought down the sense of strangeness at seeing the man he knew only different somehow. 

“Ah, Sir- sir. What can I do for you?” Bartolf looked bemused. He didn’t recognize Gawain but guessed that he ought to know him given the knight’s familiar address.

“A round of ale for my friends.”

“They look like they could use it.” Bartolf said with a wink. Arthur, Merlin and the other knights were standing together in a hostile, wary knot. Merlin frayed from the knot so far as to help Gawain carry the brimming mugs to a table. No one appeared to like being in this unfamiliar familiar place. Gawain wasn’t ecstatic himself but as they were in this world and they needed some time to plan they may as well spend that time where there were chairs and something to drink.

“Wait!” Elyan suddenly grabbed Gawain’s wrist as he was lifting it to his mouth. “Should you do that? Maybe we shouldn’t eat or drink anything while we’re here.”

“I think that’s faeryland.” Percival said but he lowered his mug. Everyone looked at Merlin.

“It should be fine.” Merlin assured. The ale was completely made of magic as was everything in this place but it was magic that had taken the form of ale.

“Good enough.” Gawain said and in a display of bravado tipped his head back and took several long swallows. “What? Aren’t the rest of you going to join me?”

“I think we’re waiting to see if you keel over.” Leon’s said dryly but then took a healthy swig. Merlin took a sip in solidarity and Percival drank thirstily. Elyan dipped a finger into his cup and tasted it carefully before drinking. Arthur was too intent on his thoughts to take an interest in his ale. For a while, they were an island of quiet amid the hum and bur of the tavern. Then, Arthur decisively slapped the table and pushed himself to his feet and walked over to the bar.

“How long has Elaine been on the throne?” He demanded of the tavern keeper without any sort of preamble. 

“Well, I couldn’t rightly say.” Bartolf answered, scratching his ear. “I suppose she’s been Queen forever, hasn’t she.”

“Who were her parents? Who ruled before her?” Arthur bit off each question.

“I don’t-“ Bartolf squinted as though he were wrapping his mind around a question that he had never considered before and was only considering now in the spirit of hospitality. “Elaine has always been our Queen. I don’t suppose she needed parents.”

“You are aware that makes no sense?” Arthur said.

“Well, you might get more sensible answers if you asked more sensible questions.” Bartolf asserted. Then he added, “my lord” because the force of Arthur’s glare was unnerving.

“Can you tell us about the Court?” Merlin interjected quickly.

“The Court? Oh, well, there’s the Queen, of course.” Bartolf relaxed a little. Merlin had apparently managed a sensible question. “The Knight of the Unicorn as we call the Prince Consort, he’s a brave champion. Camelot’s got the best champion in the world even if I do say so myself. Then, there’s the Court Sorcerer, Merlin. He is a powerful sorcerer but not one of the bad ‘uns I can assure you. That’s not to say he doesn’t have his odd ways and strange moods but that is the way of all- Is something wrong?”

“Of course not, please do go on.” Merlin said in a distracted voice. Arthur who had just been thinking, ‘it would be a bloody unicorn’ put a hand on Merlin’s back. Merlin took a breath and shook off the worst of his surprise.

“Well, as I say, I hear nothing but good about Lord Merlin.” Bartolf went on. “There’s Sir Leon, he’s head of the guard. Sir Kay, the seneschal. Oh and the physician Gaius and well there are others of course. Were you thinking of someone in particular?”

“No, no. I think that’s enough for now.” Merlin murmured. The rest of the knights had followed Arthur to the bar and now they all retreated back to their table.

“Court Sorcerer, then.” Gawain was the first to speak. “Congratulations- well earned.”

“It’s not funny.” Leon snapped.

“It is a little bit funny.” Gawain countered.

“Funny or not, it’s starting to feel really personal.” Percival said. “Do you think- I mean, is this all just a setup? Is there really a missing child? Could the Lady of the Lake being working with this sorceress? I mean, if this is about the Lady of the Lake’s son then why is this world so much like Camelot?”

“Freya didn’t set us up.” Merlin said hotly. “If you knew what she went through . . . . She’s magic therefore she’s treacherous, is that it.”

“That wasn’t what Percival was suggesting at all.” Arthur said firmly. Knights exchanged looks. Merlin was not certain what these looks communicated but he was already feeling he had spoken with more heat than was appropriate. “Percival has a point that this is not what we expected- not that we knew what to expect. It may be possible that the Lady of the Lake knew more than she told us but I do not believe she intends us harm.”

Percival nodded acceptance. Though he thought it was unfair that he had been accused of judging a person based only on their magical ability, he could still understand Merlin’s defensiveness about it. He could also understand that Merlin trusted his friend. Yet, the circumstances did seem to warrant a little suspicion. Anyone could be deceived. 

“So, I think the next step has to be a meeting with Elaine.” Arthur didn’t want to spend more time on the subject of the Lady of the Lake. He would greatly prefer if she did not turn out to be treacherous but talking about it wouldn’t prove anything either way.

“How will that work? Do we just go up to the castle and announce we want to see the Queen?” Elyan asked.

“Unless someone has a better suggestion . . .” Elyan had correctly deduced Arthur’s intentions and he felt the note of skepticism in Elyan’s question was not called for.

Before anyone could offer a better suggestion, the tavern door swung open with such force that it struck the wall. Eyes turned and hands sought sword hilts. The man whose entrance had caused the disturbance stood in the doorway for a moment hands on hips. His dramatic pose was reflected in his dramatic appearance. The man was tall and he had the sort of body that insisted on wrapping its bulky muscles in a layer of fat. His ruddily handsome face was topped by a mane of bright red hair.

“Bartolf! You old slug, I’m in the mood for a drink!” The man boomed from the doorway before swaggering to the bar. On his way, he caught one of the serving maids around the waist and pulled her towards him. “Give us a kiss, Mary.” Mary giggled dutifully and kissed the man on the cheek. She was released and her bottom given a parting squeeze.

“You’re in fine fettle this afternoon, Sir Gawain.” Bartolf smiled as he poured a mug of ale.

“Yes, indeed.” The man addressed as Sir Gawain replied with good humor. “The sun shines. The bloom is in the fair maid’s cheek.” He gave Mary a wink. “I have a full cup of ale in my hand- and a joint of mutton on the fire?” Sir Gawain finished hopefully.

“Of course. Right away.” Bartolf assured and he hurried toward the kitchen.

The moment Bartolf turned away to see about the mutton the newly arrived Sir Gawain began to hum noisily as though he could not endure a moment of silence. His foot started to tap. Then, he began to sing.

“Come ‘ere, Bette.” The man paused in his song long enough to beckon another serving girl. “Let’s dance.”

Sir Gawain began to spin Bette in a circle but stopped. “There’s not nearly enough room on the floor for proper dancing. The table will have to do. Up you go.”

“No!” Bartolf yelled hastily as Sir Gawain lifted Bette high into the air. “We can move things about. No trouble at all. The floor is much better for dancing.” Bartolf had hurried around the bar and gesturing for help from several bystanders cleared space so the dancing could begin.

“Oh my god.” The real Gawain murmured from where he and the others had gathered to watch the scene unfold. The entire party from Camelot had observed the Gawain of this magic world with emotions that never managed to stray far from incredulity. Gawain’s murmur seemed to break the spell though and Elyan’s laughter suddenly spluttered out of him. He was wailing with mirth and his laughter set off Percival.

“Oh my god.” Gawain murmured again and that was enough to start Leon going. The three knights shook with laughter while Arthur looked as though he wanted to raise serious objections to what he had just witnessed but couldn’t quite find where to start. Merlin was smiling but he was also patting Gawain’s back comfortingly.

They were still gathering their wits when the dancing abruptly stopped. “What is the meaning of this?” Sir Gawain demanded. He released Bette who retreated the moment she was free. “You! Were you trying to trip me?”

The object of this accusation rose from his chair and faced the knight. He was a brawny blond man who was clearly unintimidated by the knight’s bombast. “No need with feet as big and clumsy as yours.”

“Ha! I ought to challenge you for that and then you can tell me how clumsy my feet are once I’ve kicked your arse.” Gawain moved closer until he was almost touching noses with the other man.

“Yeah? You want to teach me a lesson?” The other man shoved Gawain with both hands forcing him to take a step back.

“You asked for it.” Gawain took a few more steps back and took up a pugilist’s stance. “Come on.”

At this point, Arthur started moving forward to break up the fight while the other knights readied themselves to back him up.

“Arthur, don’t!” Merlin rushed to get in Arthur’s way before he could take a step forward. “Let it be. This isn’t real. These aren’t really people.” Merlin gestured around the bar. “These are magical creations not human beings. This is just . . . . dolls at a tea party.”

“Take it outside, gentlemen!” Bartolf yelled as Arthur paused. “Sir Gawain, you promised, sir!” Shoving and glaring all the way, Gawain and the other man went outside.

“No, you were right. It is a little bit funny.” Leon told the Gawain of Camelot as the other man continued to gaze at the door where his counterpart had just disappeared in consternation.

“Merlin, are you really sure these aren’t people, that they never were?” Arthur asked. “They aren’t just under a spell or transformed or something.”

“They were never people.” Merlin confirmed. “If we do find a real human it will be obvious. Well, it will be obvious to me- it might be obvious to you.”

“Keep me apprized.” Arthur said trying to sound businesslike. The false Camelot was disturbing enough on its own but the fear that human props were being used turned the blood in Arthur’s veins to ice water.

“All right.” Arthur summoned the attention of his companions. “All right. That was strange but I don’t see that it changes anything. Only the sorceress and the boy matter and it seems most likely that Elaine is the sorceress. So, let’s try not to get too caught up in the distractions.” This last drew a few titters from the knights except for Gawain who looked chagrinned. 

“You know, the rest of us may get our own turn so you may want to ease off Gawain a bit.” Arthur advised his companions. 

Generally, Arthur felt that whatever mockery Gawain might receive he more than had coming. But, the fact that in this very detailed replica of Camelot Arthur did not seem to exist upset him enough that he was inclined to feel sympathy- even for Gawain.

Gawain, who still felt utterly flummoxed by his counterpart, perked up in anticipation of witnessing someone else’s turn.

Just outside the Rising Sun tavern the Sir Gawain of the magic world and the blond man sat slumped against a wall. Gawain’s nose had been bloodied and the blond man’s right eye was swollen. The two men had their arms around each other’s shoulders though and they looked companionable in their exhaustion.

“Why did they make me fat . . . and ginger?” Gawain could not stop himself from murmuring as the party made their way past the two men headed for the castle. Even Arthur had to grin at that.

The company walked the familiar road in silence. Merlin was grateful for the quiet because the unalloyed magic of the world was wearing on him. Merlin had not understood before how much magic depended on the reality of its surroundings. If magic could be compared to music then Merlin was gaining a deeper appreciation for the importance of the silence between the notes. 

The ubiquitous and untethered magic of this place made Merlin reluctant to use his own magic because the only thing here for his magic to act on was other magic. Manipulating other magic was more difficult and led to more unpredictable results than manipulating non-magic substance. Beyond that Merlin feared that if he disrupted the spell that made this world by poking it with his own magic then the world- without anything real to fall back on- would come apart. 

Freya had not warned him about any of this. She had not explained how brittle this world would feel. Perhaps she had not known. Merlin didn’t believe for a second that Freya had betrayed them. But, well, how well did he really know her? They’d shared some dramatic moments and they had helped each other . . . Freya might believe she had good reasons for sending them all here. Merlin wasn’t sure what those good reasons could be but he was sure there were good reasons. Merlin shook his head vigorously in an attempt to clear it. The point was she had not betrayed them. She might possibly have deliberately misinformed them but that was the sort of thing that happened sometimes even between the closest of allies. 

Any further ruminations Merlin might have had were cut short as they arrived at the castle entrance. Two guards stood blocking their way. There was something familiar about the guard on the left. Beside him Gawain smirked and Leon sighed.

“What is your business?” demanded the guard on the left. The guard’s blond hair was cropped close to his head. He wore a neatly trimmed beard and a Roman style cuirass. He was above average height and except for a surprisingly beaky nose he was identical to Sir Leon.

“I am Arthur Pendragon and I have business with Elaine, your Queen.” Arthur announced with authority giving the Sir Leon of this world a look that was so aloof that it would have been disdainful except that would have required more emotional commitment.

“Sir!” Sir Leon clapped his fist over his heart and turned in very sharpish fashion to lead them into the castle. The company shrugged at one another, considering that that had been pleasantly easy and then scurried after Arthur.

Sir Leon led them in silence and after a minute or so the Sir Leon of Arthur’s party could not help but whisper to Elyan, “Well he doesn’t seem to be so bad.”

The staccato rhythm of boot heels striking cobblestones stopped abruptly and somehow the Sir Leon of the magic world managed to approach very near the other Sir Leon without making any sound. He brought his face within inches of the other Leon’s and spoke just above a whisper. “I don’t know what miserable misbegotten backwater you come from but this is Camelot. This is the castle of Queen Elaine. You are expected to behave with a modicum of dignity. Even if you have no care for your own honor consider your comrades. Your actions reflect upon them as well as upon yourself. Now, be quiet.”

The Sir Leon of Arthur’s company was aware of the paroxysms of glee that had suddenly seized his fellow knights. He resisted the urge to sigh as he met his counterpart’s piercing glare. There was really only one thing he could say in this situation. He squared his shoulders. “Yes, sir.”

Sir Leon kept up his glare for several more seconds- conveying disappointment coupled with disgust but in the end he found the answer satisfactory. He took a step back and regarded the rest of the knights- who were snorting and hooting helplessly as they made efforts to restrain their mirth- with profound disapproval. Sir Leon’s expression conveyed the futility of offering counsel to such an unruly band. 

Turning to Arthur with military precision, Sir Leon of the magic world said, “Sir, I cannot in good conscience permit such an ill-disciplined ruffian gang as this to come into the Queen’s presence. If you are incapable of controlling them then I must insist that they remain here.”

Arthur regarded his companions. Leon was blushing but otherwise calm. Merlin just looked worried. The remaining three were taking gasping breath in an attempt to calm down. “All right. Enough.” Arthur said in an attempt to placate the Leon of the magic world but he could not put much severity into his voice.

Percival, Elyan and Gawain nodded and tried to smooth their features into something approaching stoic. Sir Leon of the magic world did not look happy but he returned to the head of their group and they continued on.

When they reached the throne room, Sir Leon moved to stand before the dais. He gave a formal bow and announced “Sir Arthur Pendragon seeks an audience, my Lady.” Having done this he moved to the side and stood at attention.

Arthur’s eyes were glued to the woman on the throne as Merlin whispered in his ear “She’s human.” Arthur nodded and was ready to move forward when Merlin suddenly grabbed his arm and added, “So is the baby.”

Arthur’s eyes widened and immediately focused on Elaine’s stomach. At first glance Arthur had taken in that Elaine was a stranger to him. He was mildly relieved by this because as sure as he was that this was not the sort of Camelot Morgana would make- even to mock him- he had still held in the back of his head the apprehension of seeing his sister here. Aside from that Arthur did not study the woman especially closely. Now he saw that, yes, her belly was a little distended. She might be; she was pregnant. The news scattered all of Arthur’s thoughts and for several seconds his mind was blank. Then with a conscious effort he gathered himself. 

It had occurred to Arthur earlier, as he considered this rescue, that in accomplishing his objective it might be necessary to kill the kidnapping sorceress. The idea had not upset him unduly. Now, that alternative was out. 

As there was nothing to do but soldier on Arthur grimaced then stepped boldly forward. Striding to the center of the room, Arthur let confidence suffuse his features. His confidence was genuine but even so, Arthur was glad that Merlin stood beside him and the knights kept close behind- all merriment replaced by vigilance.

“Lady Elaine, I come on behalf of the Lady of the Lake- sometimes called Freya- to find her son and return the child to his adoptive mother. I charge that you are responsible for the boy’s abduction and I demand that you surrender him to me immediately. If you do so that will conclude my business here and my men and I will leave your world as soon as practicable.” There, that was the long and the short of it.

From her throne, Elaine listened calmly to this declaration. At one point her brow furrowed but she recovered in the next moment. When Arthur had finished she started to stand. As she did so a figure darted forward from the shadows to lend his support.

Merlin watched the figure emerge with horror. The man was dressed in black and silver. He was a little shorter than average height and very thin with glossy dark hair and a complexion as pale as milk. The tops of his ears curved up into a subtle point as one might expect on an elf. Despite the skeletal frame, despite the inexplicable ears it was clear that this was this world’s version of Merlin.

“Lord Arthur,” Elaine took a small step forward so that her court sorcerer now stood behind her. “I deny your accusation. I dispute the Lady of the Lake’s claim to the person she lyrically but inaccurately refers to as her son. I am his closest family and he belongs with me. To resolve this issue I challenge you to trial by combat. Whosoever shall emerge the victor shall be shown the right and take lawful custody.”

“Is the boy all right? We demand to see him.” Percival could not help but interject. His stomach had been twisting in knots over the fate of the child since they had begun this quest. 

“He is perfectly fine. He is very happy in fact, but I will not permit you to see him.” Elaine answered and her eyes softened somewhat as she regarded Percival but they hardened again when she turned back to Arthur.

Meanwhile the King warily considered Elaine’s words. He did not want to refuse the challenge but there was no way Arthur was going to fight a pregnant woman. “Will you declare a champion, my lady?”

“Yes. My husband, the Knight of the Unicorn, will take up my cause on the field of honor.” Elaine answered with a rueful twist of her lips.

Oh, thank god. “I accept.” There was a soft buzzing around Arthur that the King took to be the objections of those around him but he couldn’t bother with them at the moment.

“My consort is not in Camelot now. He hunts the forests to protect us all from the threats of wild beasts and evil creatures. He should return by dawn. I shall provide you with accommodation for the night and in the meantime please enjoy the freedom of the castle.” And that was it. Arthur inclined his head. Elaine inclined hers to an equivalent angle. Then the company was walking out of the throne room. It was, Arthur thought, one of the most businesslike conversations he had ever had with a sorceress.

“Arthur-“ Merlin began once they reached the corridor. He wasn’t sure he approved of this trial by combat notion. He cut himself off though as Elaine’s Merlin seemed to pop out of nowhere to join their group.

“Hello!” Elaine’s Merlin smiled beatifically. “If you will all come with me then I can show you to your rooms for the night.”

“We wouldn’t be keeping you from more important duties?” Elyan asked when it became apparent no one else knew how to respond.

“Oh, that. Well, I do what I can.” Elaine’s Merlin said cheerfully as he led the group through corridors they were all familiar with. “In fact, I do most things around here, even when it’s beneath me. It’s just another sacrifice I make happily for the greater good.” 

No one commented on this statement. The Merlin of Arthur’s company resisted the urge pull his neckerchief over his face.

“Here you are.” Elaine’s Merlin announced flinging wide the doors to a suite with several adjoining rooms that was used to house the more important contestants during tournaments. Once inside Elaine’s Merlin went about opening curtains and checking cupboards for fresh linens.

“I heard what happened back there.” Elaine’s Merlin said in a confidential tone. “I’m sure there is a way to handle this situation without resort to anything so silly as a fight. It might take me hours of painstaking research and it may involve tremendous danger to myself but I will find an alternate solution whatever the personal cost may be.” 

“That’s, um, very good of you.” Elyan offered carefully. As before, no one else appeared willing to engage Elaine’s Merlin and a response seemed called for.

“Well, someone has to look out for the Unicorn Knight. He may be good with a sword but he’s not especially bright.” Elaine’s Merlin said indulgently. 

“And there’s Elaine of course.” He said with sincere fondness. “Oh dear, she is such a goose.” 

Abruptly the smile disappeared and Elaine’s Merlin’s expression darkened. “Except when she’s a stupid cow. She never appreciates the things I do for her. She never does but where would she be without me, I ask you. The things I could do to her if I wanted to . . . And yet she is so unkind. All I ever do is try and help the stupid cow. But it’s all right.” 

Elaine’s Merlin’s cheerfulness returned as if it had never left. “It’s all for the best even when it is so very, very hard on me. It’s worth it, for Elaine- the dear little goose- and the good people of this kingdom who do not know- and who shall not know- the things I endure for their sakes.” Soliloquy finished, Elaine’s Merlin lowered his voice and said conspiratorially. “Now remember this is all just between us.” With a wink and a wide grin Elaine’s Merlin left them. 

Merlin flung himself into the nearest chair and covered his face with his hands. There were a few murmurs of sympathy. Gawain could not help a quiet chuckle but he also patted Merlin’s shoulder. Mercifully the knights soon took up a discussion of the forthcoming combat. When Merlin was able to join in there was still high color in his cheeks but no one said anything about it.

Though their day had begun at dawn in a Camelot unimaginably distant from this one and they had all been awake for at least twenty hours, the sun was still high in the sky. It seemed ridiculous to go to bed in the afternoon. With that in mind the company decided to do a bit more investigating. They did not expect to learn much but Gawain was very eager to find this world’s version of Elyan and Percival. Because that was fair. Thus, the six men divided into three groups and agreed that they would return to their rooms within the next two hours.

At Gawain’s insistence he and Percival left the castle. Gawain did not need to say that they would be headed directly to the blacksmith’s shop. 

“Do you think we’ll find Gwen there?” Percival asked as they walked. He wasn’t sure he wanted to see this world make mock of Gwen.

“I don’t know.” Gawain replied. “Elaine’s made herself Queen so she may not want to have the true Queen in this world.”

“Or she may want to especially humiliate her.” Percival rejoined. “Let’s leave this, Gawain. We can spend a few hours doing something else.”

“It’s not real, Percival.”

“It still might not be easy to see.” The big man objected.

“We can always just turn around and leave if it’s distressing.” Gawain reassured. “You know, I can’t even really think what a false Gwen would be like. I mean I get that the thoroughly scurrilous depiction of me might have been based on some tiny kernel of truth and Leon’s double was spot on.” Gawain did not mention Merlin’s double because Merlin’s embarrassment had seemed so much greater than Leon’s or Gawain’s. That was upsetting to Gawain who was not accustomed to thinking of Merlin as someone susceptible to embarrassment. 

“But I can’t see what they could do to Gwen.” It wasn’t that Gwen was perfect. It was just that it seemed like it would be more difficult to find some genuine and essential aspect of her personality and then blow it out of proportion for comic effect. . . Unless it was that she could be a bit of a scold. It hadn’t been more than a few weeks since the Queen had taken him aside to talk about courtesy . . . or was it consideration, maybe it had been responsibility. Gawain couldn’t rightly remember. He always ignored undeserved lectures.

“It’s too bad there is no Arthur in this world.” Gawain mused. “That man is ripe for parody.”

“You don’t think he’s meant to be the Knight of the Unicorn?” Percival asked.

“Well, no.” Gawain had not considered that at all. “I suppose he could be- then he’d be fighting himself. But, what is the punch line? This place . . . it think it’s making a point. It’s being very childish about it but you were right there’s no way this isn’t personal. What is the point of making Arthur the knight of the Unicorn? He goes out adventuring and leaves the dull jobs to his wife? That’s not exactly the most trenchant possible critique, is it? Generally, he has good reasons when venturing forth. Not that any of this has been close to accurate, of course.” Gawain hastened to add.

“It would hurt him.” Percival said shrugging.

Gawain had to concede that yes it probably would. Arthur took things like duty and responsibility very seriously. The allegation that he was engaged in something selfish to the detriment of his people would hurt him. But, while it was certainly possible that causing hurt was the point, “Still, if you were out to really hurt Arthur that’s not where I’d start.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you have lots of ideas.” Percival said wryly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Percival made no reply so Gawain went on. “I give everyone a hard time. It’s part of what makes me charming.” 

Percival still said nothing. 

“Look, I have to give Arthur trouble because no one else does. It’s a public service.” Now Percival raised an eyebrow.

“Well, you and the other knights don’t. Gwen doesn’t.” Gawain continued. “People disagree with Arthur of course but that’s not the same . . .” Now that Gawain thought about it there were always people who were trying to change Arthur’s mind or adjust his plans to their benefit or barter for his support. Some said subtle but cutting things- behind his back usually, but also to his face. . . Arthur had to pretend to be above noticing or pretend not to care and the worse it hurt the more vital it was to pretend. But, wasn’t dealing with overt truculence and oily insinuations part of Arthur’s job. Gawain wasn’t ever trying to undermine Arthur or score points off him- not really, or not in a bad way. . . Gawain suddenly had the sense he was losing an argument. He didn’t see how that was possible though, because Percival still wasn’t saying anything. Mulishly Gawain charged on.

“Merlin might be full of backchat but that’s different. He doesn’t mean it- not that I mean it. It’s just that Arthur can be so maddeningly aloof. So superior. Can you really imagine how bad he would be if I weren’t around. I help keep him grounded . . . ” 

“It’s not just Arthur.” Percival said softly.

“I’m not that bad.” Gawain insisted. He joked. Everybody joked. That was the way it worked. It wasn’t his problem if sometimes someone didn’t know how to take a joke. His intentions were pure (mostly). It wasn’t his fault if someone couldn’t see that. He couldn’t be blamed if someone was too uptight to laugh at themselves. He wished he could start this conversation over, perhaps in a week or so after he had time to better organize his thoughts. 

“Gawain, you know we all love you, right? Me, Elyan, Leon, Gwen, Merlin, Arthur, we all love you.”

“I sense a but coming.” Gawain felt a strange tension in his chest. It annoyed him.

“But, you can be a lot of work.”

Gawain nodded slightly and was silent for a while. Then he said “But, I’m worth it?”

“Yeah, you’re worth it.” Percival threw an arm around Gawain and planted a sloppy kiss on his cheek. Gawain shoved him off hiding his smile behind a show of exaggerated disgust.  
*  
It would have been Arthur’s preference to spend the rest of the afternoon in the room they had been given. There was a nice window and Arthur felt that a window always added something to a good brood. Merlin had wanted to visit Gaius’s workroom and the archives though and Arthur didn’t want him to go alone. 

Walking through the castle Arthur could almost forget that this wasn’t his Camelot. So much was the same- even the sounds and smells. The faces were familiar too. He recognized most of the people who passed by. Though, Arthur noticed with sadness, some of the people he saw were dead now. That made him especially angry as though their memories were being mocked. 

This was not his Camelot despite the uncanny resemblance. Apparently, he and Gwen didn’t even exist here. And why did that hurt so much? The others might have considered him fortunate that he didn’t have a double to make him look foolish. Yet, while Arthur was not eager to be made fun of, it still bothered him. Shouldn’t any version of Camelot have an Arthur?

It wasn’t as though it would be difficult to find something to make fun of him for. It was obvious where to twist the knife. Arthur knew that if there were an Arthur in this world then he would be grossly stupid. Camelot could be engulfed in flame and Arthur’s double would be utterly oblivious except to comment that it was a little warm for the season. 

This world’s Arthur would have to be managed like an ill-tempered child. He would be a blundering incompetent getting into all kinds of ridiculous trouble. He might be cruel as well. Arrogant certainly. Hypocritical? From time to time. And all that was just off the top of Arthur’s head. If someone cared to put any thought into it they could craft an Arthur that was the definition of pathetic or mean or both. Maybe the reason he didn’t have a double was because Elaine was just spoiled for choice. Maybe the point was that Arthur was actually a parody of himself. Or maybe he was left out because the joke was that Arthur’s quintessential characteristic was his uselessness.

Damn it! He had to banish these thoughts. He was done with the insecurity, the self-doubt and the anger that had transformed into self-disgust. Arthur was doing all right. He was holding his own. He knew who he was and where he was going. He would overcome the whispers in his own head that told him he had failed before he started; that he would never live up to the expectations of those he cared about most. No, he wasn’t magic. But, Arthur had a sense of himself and of his purpose before magic had revealed itself to have invaded every aspect of his life. And he still had a purpose. He was sure of that, even if there were times when that purpose felt beyond his reach.

Arthur and Merlin had come to the last set of stairs before reaching the physician’s quarters. Sitting on the first step with an overflowing basket of herbs and medicines beside him Elaine’s Merlin wept. Sparkling tears slid down his face and he was even paler than he was before. In fact, he was luminous.

“Just keep going.” Merlin hissed seizing Arthur’s arm so they could get past the weeping figure as quickly as possible.

“How I have suffered.” Elaine’s Merlin addressed the world at large in a voice that quavered. “I carry such a heavy burden of responsibility, of destiny. Why was I alone granted the wisdom and the power to see things clearly? Why must it fall upon me to have the courage to make decisions for those around me? I am but a simple man who would be content with no more than a simple life but I am forced by cruel fate to carry the weight of kingdoms.” 

“I hate him.” Merlin could not restrain himself from murmuring as he and Arthur escaped the mournful oration.

“It’s not real.” Arthur answered rubbing the back of Merlin’s neck and pulling him closer.

Gaius’s workroom reeked. There was often a whiff of something or other in the air in Gaius’s room in the real Camelot but this was appalling. Arthur’s eyes watered and Merlin pulled his neckerchief over his mouth and nose. The physician did not appear to be in residence and both men figured this was probably for the best.

As Merlin had been the one who wanted to come here Arthur let him wander around while he remained by the door. Merlin looked over the potions on the table. He tried to smell them but it was no use. He pulled a thick book from the shelf and started riffling the pages.

“Arthur, look at this.” Merlin called.

“Bring it here.” Merlin did and Arthur examined the pages. “What does it mean?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s gibberish.” Merlin said leaving the book with Arthur and going back to the shelf. “This one too. I think they might all be.”

Arthur examined the book he held. The ink on the pages looked like writing but the marks corresponded to no alphabet Arthur had ever seen. “They’re just props.” Arthur said putting the book on the floor.

“Everything here is just a prop but the ale was still ale. This,” Merlin went to the table, picked up a sprig of purple bell shaped flowers and waved it around. “Is actually comfrey- even if it is comfrey made of magic.”

“Maybe Elaine chose practicality over verisimilitude.” Arthur said. “There doesn’t seem much of an advantage to having spell books lying around.”

“These aren’t all spell books. It should mostly be medical stuff.”

Arthur shrugged. There might not be a rational explanation to be had. “Do you still want to go to the archives?”

“I suppose not.” Merlin said. On the way back to their rooms they took a route that was much longer but that also avoided a particular staircase.

Merlin had thought to spend the time waiting for the return of the others by looking after Arthur’s armor. The damp had not been good for it. As he sat by the hearth though Merlin felt despondency overwhelm him. He put his head in his hands.

“Hey?” Arthur, who had been eyeing the window, turned to see Merlin’s slumped shoulders and bent head. In response, Merlin shook his head slightly trying to restrain his sudden melancholy.

“This place isn’t right, Arthur.”

“Don’t I know it.” Arthur tried for a grin but it fell a little short.

“No, I know. But it’s more than that. This place is really wrong. Can’t you feel it? Like you’re coming apart? Or, I don’t know, melting.”

Arthur considered that. He really didn’t like it here. It bothered him for a lot of reasons but he didn’t think he was feeling what Merlin was feeling. He went over to sit down next to his friend. He put a hand on his shoulder. “Is this place hurting you somehow? Do we need to get you out of here?”

Quickly Merlin shook his head. It felt as though this world were lapping at him, at his magic. He felt like a cup of water in an ocean with only a thin barrier of reality keeping him separate. It was a disquieting feeling, but he wasn’t going anywhere until this was over. “No, no. It’s just so strange to be in a completely magical world.”

“Shouldn’t you . . . wouldn’t a magical world be fun for you?” Arthur asked. “I mean aren’t you in your element?”

Merlin looked at Arthur incredulously. Arthur sighed. “Try to explain it to me, then. Why doesn’t a world completely made of magic suit you?”

“Because magic completely by itself is, it isn’t, it’s force without substance. It’s like liquid without anything to contain it and give it shape.” Merlin knew this wasn’t helpful but words could only go so far.

“But this place is magic and it’s not chaotic.” If Arthur was going to call it anything it seemed a bit stultified. There was a vitality missing that dovetailed with the Lady of the Lake’s description of this place as a dream world.

“This magic is constrained by the will and the logic of whoever created the spell. But, that is the only reality it has. I feel like I’m standing on a cliff in a high wind.” Arthur still looked confused and Merlin shook his head. “Look: magic needs the real world. That’s how it works.”

Deciding to try something a little more practical Merlin looked around and picked up a whetstone. “If we were in Camelot- our Camelot- then when I drop this whetstone it will fall because that is the way of nature.”

“If you drop it here it falls too.” Arthur pointed out reasonably.

“Yes but not because of the laws of nature, because that is what the spell says should happen. This isn’t really a whetstone. This is a completely magic object. It is only a whetstone because that is the form the magic has taken and it has only taken that form because someone with the power and the right words said that this is what it should look like.”

“I’m still not seeing the problem.”

“Back in our Camelot, if I dropped a whetstone I could use my magic to catch it- to keep it from falling in contravention of the laws of nature.” -Arthur felt his blood run a little cold at this casual description but he hid it as best he could.- “But when my magic is gone the object falls again. Everything goes back to normal. No harm done.”

“No harm done when you bend or break the laws of nature, Merlin?” Arthur couldn’t stop himself from asking. He had never been able to get past the idea that magic- even magic that was used to a good end- was a kind of violence against natural world.

“Nature is resilient. Truly, no harm done.” Merlin could see Arthur’s doubt. He had tried so hard to find explanations, descriptions, analogies for magic that would help Arthur to understand but it always got muddled. Here he had another chance to explain and Merlin felt suddenly hopeful that this magic world could illuminate something important. “In the real world objects will continue to fall when dropped no matter how many times magic interferes in a particular instance. Magic can bend or break one instance of a law but not the overriding order of nature. And magic that is too bold or brazen runs into problems that subtler magic avoids.”

“Here, though,” Merlin went on eager to communicate his meaning, “if I use magic to stop the whetstone from falling then my magic is working on magic- that is so much less stable. If I stop this object from falling I may not be breaking the rule in this one instance, I might break the more general rule so that nothing falls when dropped but just hangs in place. It could even be worse than that. If I break the order Elaine has imposed on the magic here the natural order can’t rush in to set things to right. Magic works as an exception to ordinary rules but it has to respect those rules or everything becomes incoherent- like trying to build something out of air.”

“So what rules apply here?” Arthur really wanted to understand but Merlin’s explanations hovered just beyond his grasp. “As far as I can tell things work here more or less the way they work anywhere else.”

“I don’t think so.” Merlin shook his head. “It may look that way but this world isn’t following natural laws. I just can’t figure out what- exactly- is different.”

“Wouldn’t the rules be whatever Elaine wants? She made the world, didn’t she?”

“Yes, but I don’t think she’s making it up as she goes along. Too much is happening for that.”

“Well, this world is supposed to be like Camelot, maybe it works according to the Knight’s Code.” Arthur said it almost facetiously. If he were going to make a world he would certainly want one in which virtue was rewarded and good deeds earned honor. He even believed that such a world was possible- or at least he believed it was worth working towards. He didn’t see that such a world could be created by magical fiat though.

At Arthur’s words, Merlin’s head went up and his brows drew down in concentration. “Elaine was awfully quick to respond to you with a challenge to combat.”

Arthur laughed, “Seriously?”

“I don’t know. Something to think about . . .”

Bemused Arthur let Merlin drift in his thoughts a moment before he asked, “So what happens if the spell Elaine used to make the rules of this world breaks?”

“I’d rather not find out.” Merlin answered. He found he was leaning against Arthur’s shoulder. Having realized what he was doing he found no compelling reason to stop.

“Isn’t there some safe way to undo the spell that made this place? Aren’t there ways to counter complex magic? Isn’t that how it has worked in the past-mostly?”

“Probably, but without knowing specifically how to undo this spell it’s risky to go poking around.” Merlin put a hand on Arthur’s knee. “Don’t worry. You and the knights are very real and I’m confident that I can get us all out of here if worse comes to worst.”

Arthur nodded, deferring to Merlin’s expertise on the question of the dangers of magical worlds. His mind was caught though on something Merlin had said earlier. ‘Nature is resilient.’ Arthur desperately wanted that to be so. He wanted it to be true that magic had some respect for, some dependence on reality. 

There was a danger, Arthur was aware, in confusing magic and science with moral philosophy. Even so, he was drawn by the idea that magic might not necessarily be destructive of nature. Magic did break or at least bend specific natural laws at specific times but did that necessarily mean that magic had no respect for nature? Might sorcery be something akin to a lawyerly pursuit? Did magicians work with the laws of nature as their secular brethren worked with the laws of kingdoms? Lawyers, Arthur knew, bent rules as far as they could and broke them outright sometimes when they thought they could get away with it and when they believed they had a good enough reason. But, most of them were ultimately steadfast defenders of the rule of law. They understood its imperfections but acknowledged its necessity. Arthur smiled a little wickedly at the comparison but he also found himself reassured. 

“What?” Merlin had been roused from his own thoughts by the grin that spread across Arthur’s face.

“Nature is resilient.” 

“Yeah, very much so. I mean, it would have to be considering.”

“I’m just very happy about that suddenly.” The two had slumped together throughout the conversation and now Arthur bumped against Merlin’s shoulder companionably.

Merlin regarded Arthur a moment unable to guess what was in the other man’s mind but glad that he did seem to be happy. Leaning his head against Arthur’s Merlin had calmed considerably in the last few minutes. Talking to Arthur, touching Arthur had eased the melting feeling. Arthur was real. He was solid. In this flimsy dream world Arthur was the only thing he could cling to. For the sake of his dignity Merlin might have preferred if the clinging wasn’t so literal but even that was all right. He had sacrificed dignity before and it hadn’t done him any harm. The horrible Merlin of this place no longer felt like such a humiliation. The unalleviated magic here was still unpleasant but he had an anchor to the real that would keep him protected.

Just then, there was a noise at the door. Merlin sat up quickly and grabbed for a cleaning cloth and a piece of armor. He didn’t want the knights to guess that he had been so upset. Arthur watched Merlin scramble away from him with an inscrutable expression. Then, he got up and went to stand by the window just as Leon and Elyan came into the room.

Percival and Gawain returned soon after and the knights all exchanged the information they had gained. No one had anything important to report but they had a list of oddities and incongruities that they had observed. Elyan had been particularly struck by a flute player he had passed in the market. The musician had been playing a familiar tune but when Elyan looked closer he saw that there was no way he could be producing the right notes as his fingers seemed to be covering the stops randomly.

Conscientious as ever, Leon had focused on asking questions about the Knight of the Unicorn. Universal opinion proclaimed that the Unicorn Knight was an exceptionally talented warrior. He was not, however, known to use magic in his fights. Arthur found he was glad of this even though he wasn’t sure how much difference it would make in a world made of magic.

The reminder of tomorrow’s combat seemed to quiet everyone. Several of the knights looked toward Merlin hoping he might have some new information to divulge or at least some reassurance. The sorcerer was beginning to generate a few theories but they felt too vague to discuss. So he remained silent.

“We’ll treat it as though it were any other trial by combat. I’ll fight the best fight I can and then we will see what we will see.” Arthur announced making it clear by his tone that he wasn’t interested in further discussion. No one argued with the King.

“Should we set a watch tonight?” Leon asked to change the subject.

Arthur didn’t see much point but the habit of vigilance was its own security and so he nodded.

“I’ll take first.” Percival volunteered getting up to stretch his long legs. The second and third watches were quickly claimed after that by Merlin and Leon respectively. 

“What?” Percival asked as he noticed Gawain’s sudden grin.

“Go on, give us a little turn.” Gawain invited grinning so hard his face must hurt. 

Earlier, Leon and Elyan reported discovering this world’s version of Percival. The man had even more muscles than could be found on the original. Or, Leon speculated, maybe it was not that there were more muscles maybe it was only that the muscles were more evident because Elaine’s Sir Percival had only been wearing a loincloth as he sweatily chopped logs with a giant ax oblivious to the admiration of a group of sighing ladies.

“You don’t deserve it.” Percival answered accepting the teasing and preparing to give some of it back. “Shouldn’t you be lying on the floor of a tavern somewhere while the barmaids roll their eyes and the host turns you onto your side?”

“Hey!” Leon interjected, taking up the gauntlet and schooling his features into their most severe expression. “Percival, all posing and flexing should be done according to proper procedure. Gawain, have enough respect for yourself to collapse into a drunken stupor without relying on civilian assistance.”

Percival and Gawain both saluted very smartly though neither could suppress their grins.

“I’m sure I’d butt in at this point except you’ll have to hear about it from someone else since I’m mostly rumor and supposition.” Elyan joined the game. 

Percival and Gawain, mostly to satisfy Gawain’s desire that they should all be in this together, had searched throughout Elaine’s Camelot for Elyan. The young knight was spoken of often enough, included in the litany of the court’s doings or mentioned for his technical proficiencies but it was all rather vague and Elyan himself could not be found.

“Now, none of you are to worry your pretty little heads.” Merlin said. “I’ll fix everything- like I always do.”

“Oh, Merlin, where would I be without you?” Gawain crooned.

“Still on the tavern floor, I’d wager.” Elyan answered. “If I were the kind to wager- which I might or might not be.”

Arthur listened as Merlin and the knights mocked their doppelgangers. It was about defiance more than anything else. This world wasn’t going to make them flinch. Arthur felt a fierce pride in all of them and he let that pride show in his eyes.   
*  
There was no difficulty finding Arthur a helmet, shield, lances and everything else that was required in a tournament and that the men from Camelot had not bothered to bring with them. There was even a surcoat with the Pendragon insignia if Arthur wanted it. Upon reflection, Arthur did not want it. Here Elaine had usurped the emblem so in this place Arthur did not want to wear it. He had gone back and forth over the decision. He knew he shouldn’t let himself get caught up in details but he couldn’t help but worry over the meaning of symbols in a created world. 

With plenty of time before dawn Arthur was fully accoutered. Merlin fussed unnecessarily with the bevor while everyone waited. Leon felt the same tightness in his belly he felt right before a tournament or battle. It was a struggle not to offer to take Arthur’s place but Leon knew the answer would be no. He also knew that the offer could be construed as a lack of faith. Arthur had come to the idea that the combat was the entire reason the Lady of the Lake had asked for him specifically. Would she have done that if she hadn’t thought he was up to the challenge of the Knight of the Unicorn? 

Leon was not mollified by the rhetorical question. Merlin might know and trust the Lady of the Lake but Leon did not. Leon tried to defer to Merlin’s judgment regarding the Lady but there were still so many unknowns. 

Arthur was about to fight a duel. Leon could hardly approve of that in the best of circumstances but there was more danger here than the vagaries of traditional combat. Arthur was a fine warrior but was this even going to be a contest of fighting prowess? Arthur’s opponent might not even be human. There was sure to be some magic twist or trick. Arthur would go out there and do his best and then Elaine would reveal some catch that would nullify his efforts. Leon wanted to give magic the benefit of the doubt. He wanted to consider issues from a larger perspective. He wanted to believe in the good in magic but deep down he still equated magic with cheating, dishonesty and general sneakiness. He worried for Arthur because Arthur had this expectation that even if the game was rigged against him he still had a chance at winning. Sometimes that was an incredible strength but sometimes it made Arthur more vulnerable than Leon could bear.

As the company stood about waiting, the stands began to fill with courtiers and townsfolk eager for a morning’s entertainment. At one point Elaine’s Merlin sped by carrying a copper pot and several yards of silk ribbon and exclaiming that everything was well in hand and that no one should panic.

“Should we panic?” Leon could not help but ask the real Merlin as his counterpart dodged through the gathering crowd.

“He’s not different from anything else here. He is made from the magic of the spell. He doesn’t have more power than what the spell can give him.” Merlin replied with an expression of distaste. No one could be said to like their double but Elaine’s Merlin had a schizophrenic quality that was especially distressing.

“Can’t the spell give him plenty of power?” Elyan asked. “Is he going to do some magic in the middle of this?”

For several minutes Merlin did not answer but he finally said “I don’t know.” If this other Merlin were like the real Merlin then he would not use magic to directly interfere with a combat without a compelling reason. “But, I’ll keep an eye on him. I think it would be better not to provoke him if we can help it.”

Merlin had thought all night about the upcoming combat. The more he thought about it the more he was convinced there was something to Arthur’s accidental insight. Elaine had made this world in Camelot’s image. Merlin had no idea why she had done so but she had. So if the Knight’s Code was more than aspirational here then that meant in a trial by combat the right side would necessarily win. That ought to be good news because Arthur was on the right side. And yet, Elaine had suggested the trial . . .

Why would Elaine suggest a contest that she would lose? Merlin wanted to trust Freya but what if she had misled them. What if Arthur’s wasn’t on the right side somehow? Merlin couldn’t see how he couldn’t be. Elaine was a kidnapper. Something else had to be going on. 

Maybe Elaine was hoping that Merlin would interfere on Arthur’s behalf. Would the combat be forfeit if one side resorted to magic? Given Elaine’s version of Merlin she might well think he would not be able to resist involving himself.

But what of Freya’s insistence that Arthur participate in this quest? If all that was required was a warrior to champion Freya’s cause then certainly any of the knights would do. So, why Arthur? Arthur wasn’t magic. Did that matter somehow? In a world where there was nothing but magic did Arthur’s lack of magic give him some kind of advantage?

It might be possible, but the knights didn’t have magic either. Merlin bit his lip. It was true that the knights did not have magic but as time had passed here Merlin was becoming aware of the fact that the knights were a little different from Arthur. The knights were not magic in themselves but they were somewhat magic porous. There were places within them, channels where magic could flow. Merlin wondered if those spaces represented each knight’s capacity to acquire magic. There were no channels, no places for magic to fill within Arthur. There was no way for magic to be part of Arthur. Magic could act on Arthur. That had been proved again and again but he was not magic and he never could be. 

There had been times when this realization would have saddened Merlin. Magic was wonderful and Merlin did not want Arthur to be denied the experience of anything wonderful. He also questioned if Arthur could ever truly accept magic if it was always going to be alien, a thing outside himself. Yet here, in this artificial construction, Merlin was grateful that Arthur belonged to the physical and the real. 

At this point, Merlin’s musings were cut off as Elaine entered the stands. Her Merlin was beside her, ribbons and pot abandoned. Gawain could also pick out his own double among the nobles. He was laughing loudly and there was a girl in his lap. Elaine’s Leon was also present standing behind Elaine and looking out with officious disapproval. Percival was there too- still in the loincloth. 

“Where did he come from?” Leon demanded suddenly. Between one moment and the next a knight appeared at the far end of the lists. He wore blue with a Unicorn head blazoned in silver on his surcoat and shield.

“Just materialized out of the mist, the pretentious git.” Gawain replied when he had taken a moment to recover from the knight’s mysterious appearance. The audience applauded politely.

“Is the Unicorn Knight human, Merlin?” Arthur said fixing his helmet in place then holding out a hand for his horse’s bridle. The horse was borrowed as the company had not brought their own mounts. When inspecting the stables earlier it seemed like Arthur could have ridden Hengroen- or at least this world’s version of the stallion- but he had been appalled by the idea. Despite that Arthur had felt compelled to pat the horse’s neck and whisper that it was not Hengroen’s fault before moving on to find a mount he did not recognize. 

“No.” Merlin answered but then he bit his lip and stared out over the field. “Yes. Or there’s a lot of magic there. A lot. It’s like he’s been here a long time and he’s just soaked with magic but there’s still ... He’s human.”

“How could he have been here a long time if this world hasn’t existed for more than a few days?” Leon asked. Merlin shrugged.

“Time runs differently here, right?” Elyan suggested and Merlin shrugged again.

“All right.” Arthur nodded to himself and the gesture was somewhat obscured by his helmet. He didn’t know if the Knight’s being human was good news or bad. It did mean that he would not kill unless he was forced to it though. He mounted the horse and held out a hand for a lance. “I suppose it’s time.”

Merlin and the knights exchanged a nervous glance before turning their attention to the field. A hush fell over the crowd. Elaine came to her feet and held up a red scarf. When she let it fall the thunder of hoof beats filled the air. “He’s got good control of the horse.” Leon observed quietly. He knew how Arthur fought and so was keeping his experienced gaze on the Unicorn Knight.

The two horsemen crashed together. Each lance struck the other’s shield squarely. Both men swayed back with the impact but both kept their seats. Merlin ran over to Arthur with a new lance and Leon observed that Elaine’s Merlin was providing the same service for the Unicorn Knight. Leon’s brow furrowed. He thought the other Merlin had been beside Elaine. 

Again the two men rode at one another and again each lance struck home. The Unicorn Knight’s lance shattered on impact with Arthur’s shield but Leon did not see that either man was hurt. Both Merlins ran forward with another lance.

“Is he all right?” Elyan asked as Merlin jogged back.

“Seems to be.” Merlin answered.

“The Knight of the Unicorn looks very good.” Percival commented unhappily.

“Too good?” Merlin demanded. If the Unicorn Knight fought with a magical advantage then it was not a fair fight. Did that mean all of Merlin’s assumptions about how this world worked were wrong? Should Merlin intervene? Biting his lip Merlin fought his magic down. He would intervene if needed. Arthur was not going to get killed in a glorified game in a made-up world. But, there would be a big argument if Merlin wasn’t careful about when and how he used his magic. Even using magic at all in this fragile world felt like a dodgy proposition so Merlin promised himself he would be patient and wait. If it became necessary though, Merlin would break this world to bits and damn all.

Percival didn’t answer and none of the other knights felt able to offer an opinion. If the Unicorn Knight had a magical advantage, Leon thought, then it was subtle. The Knight did not have super strength or speed. Most sorcerers who tried to disguise their magic as genuine combat skill did a terrible job of it. If a man knew nothing about fighting then he looked like a man who knew nothing about fighting even if he was supernaturally strong or fast or agile. Sorcerers couldn’t help but signal their ignorance about technique, leverage and momentum. Either that or the sorcerer couldn’t resist the image of the smaller apparently frailer combatant knocking down the larger better trained fighter. That’s how they got caught. If a sorcerer was careful though, if he wasn’t obsessed with making himself look good, if he did actually know the rudiments of combat and just tweaked the natural laws consistently in his favor, if he knew what real fighting was supposed to look like, or if – like Merlin had - he covered his advantage to look like the blindest of sheer dumb luck then it was almost impossible to know if someone was fighting with magical aid.

The third pass was no more definitive than the first two. Arthur and the Unicorn Knight were fairly evenly matched. Arthur was getting ready for a fourth pass when the Unicorn Knight signaled, inviting Arthur to continue the combat on foot. They might have gone a few more passes before deciding to call the joust a draw but Arthur was happy enough to change tack.   
So he raised an arm in acknowledgement and dismounted. Drawing Excalibur the King made his way to the open ground his opponent had indicated.

The Knight of the Unicorn was a talented man. Arthur had not expected otherwise but he was starting to get a sense of just how talented. The two men circled each other trying to gauge how the other moved. It had been difficult to tell from horseback but the Unicorn Knight was about average size. He had good height and a sturdy frame but he wasn’t a monster. Arthur charged ahead with a series of quick feints to test the Knight’s defenses. The Unicorn Knight fell back smoothly without panicking, using only enough strength to deflect the blow but no more. The Unicorn Knight then pressed the attack. Arthur responded keeping the other’s sword well away from his body while giving as little ground as possible. Damn but the man was good.

The two circled again, each looking for an opening. Whenever one believed he saw an advantage he would charge forward and the other would defend and counter in a flurry of back and forth before they both retreated again and resumed circling. It was not clear who was getting the better of these exchanges even to the combatants themselves but this in itself was daunting. Arthur didn’t usually get this level of competition. Gawain was very good and Arthur could beat him three times in five. He could beat Gawain two bouts in three if Gawain was hungover. This man was better than Gawain.

The Unicorn Knight lunged. Arthur parried a bit too far to the left and missed the riposte. He was slightly off-balance when the Knight turned into him shoving with his shoulder. Arthur staggered several feet but regained his balance in time for another parry. Arthur was slowly coming to the conclusion that between the two of them the Unicorn Knight was the better fighter. 

This was not the devastating conclusion it would once have been. As Prince his first duty- before all others- was to be the best warrior, the best fighter. Camelot and his father demanded it and Arthur had done his best. It had been a matter of harrowing anxiety because there could be no rest. He was only as good as his last fight and there was always another fight, another challenge. But, there had been clarity in fighting too. He knew where he stood in a fight. There wasn’t a lot of room for ambiguity or betrayal. He might not have any friends but he didn’t expect any. And, if he won then he could afford to be generous because the threat was in the challenge not in the man. 

Those days were over now. Arthur had different responsibilities, different obligations. The Kingdom’s honor no longer rested on his personal skill. And, maybe it had never been as simple as he liked to remember. In any case, Arthur no longer believed his first duty was to be the best fighter. He still had to be good, of course. He was holding his league of allied knights together in part on the promise that he could personally bring hell to the Saxons. Still, it was a relief that the things he cared about no longer stood or fell on something as arbitrary and unpredictable as a duel.

And all that was wonderful- very mature, very civilized. Except that now and again it did all come back to a duel. Important fates could still sometimes rest upon a champion. Ways might be changing but right here, right now Arthur had agreed to stake someone’s future on his skill with a sword. He had agreed and he was losing. 

Again the Knight of the Unicorn pressed forward and again Arthur fell back and to the side. He launched a counter which the Unicorn Knight must have known was a possibility because he couldn’t have reacted fast enough otherwise. Arthur pressed the pace of the fight coming at the Knight from different angles- forcing the other man into a flurry of defense. It wouldn’t matter how good the Unicorn Knight was if he ran out of wind but the Knight gave no indication of fatigue.

Sweat ran down Arthur’s face. The Unicorn Knight was on offense again pushing him around the churned up earth. Arthur was parrying to his right when the Knight stepped into his guard on the left and threw a mail clad fist into his body. Arthur managed to turn slightly and take more of the impact on his shoulder but his left shoulder was already deeply bruised from the joust and Arthur fell to the ground. He rolled away and came back to his feet but his helmet had been knocked askew. It wasn’t by much but his peripheral vision on the left side was hampered.

Arthur gritted his teeth. He didn’t think it was obvious his vision had been impaired but regardless he needed the helmet off. With a burst of energy Arthur dove at the Unicorn Knight allowing him to parry Excalibur so that he could close the distance to the other man. Spinning inside the knight’s guard Arthur delivered an elbow to the general head and neck area which he felt connect with satisfying impact. Then he brought his knee into the Knight’s torso. Having gained a few moments Arthur dodged away. He tried to remove the helmet in a quick motion but something, somewhere was giving resistance.

Before he had time to do anything else the Unicorn Knight had recovered and was coming at him. Whether by chance or careful observation the Knight came in from the left and Arthur only had enough time to fall away from the blade and attempt a weak parry. On the ground for the second time Arthur rolled again. He came up as far as a knee leaving Excalibur momentarily on the ground so he could use both hands to yank the helmet off. The Unicorn Knight was already there when Arthur could see again bringing his blade down. Without time to grab Excalibur Arthur took the impact with his crossed forearms. Moving away from the attacking Knight Arthur made it to his feet but the Unicorn Knight was between him and Excalibur.

The Unicorn Knight moved with purpose raising his sword to the approximate vicinity of Arthur’s throat. It was all over but for an official surrender. The Lady of the Lake had asked him for help. The Unicorn knight had not used magic and Arthur still hadn’t managed a victory. Arthur tasted bile but he’d lost and it was no help getting killed over it.

Beyond the Unicorn Knight Arthur saw Merlin and the Knights. Leon was pasty pale and Gawain had his sword out for some reason. And Merlin, Arthur was too far away to see Merlin’s eyes but he imagined they were gold with potential magic- ready to rescue Arthur once again. He hated that he’d disappointed them.

“I-“ Arthur paused because the Unicorn Knight had dropped his sword and was moving quickly toward him. Arthur took a step back. The Knight paused and then started pulling at his own helmet.

“Arthur.” Arthur heard his name as a rusty desperate creak and then the Unicorn Knight’s helmet was off. Then he stumbled forward throwing his arms around Arthur’s neck. Unable to support himself the knight hung there shaking. Arthur, dazed, held the other man up returning the embrace.

“Lancelot. It’s all right, Lancelot.”

The world changed. The stands, the lists, the banners all disappeared. The people disappeared. Gawain and the girl in his lap were gone. The court folk and the town folk who had been following the action with rapt attention were nowhere to be found. All that was left was an empty field, the men from Camelot, Elaine and Lancelot.

“What’s going on?” Several voices demanded at once. 

“Sweetheart.” Elaine whispered as she hurried toward Lancelot who was still clinging to Arthur in desperate confusion.

“Stay away from him.” Gawain said as he interposed himself between Elaine and Lancelot.

“He’s my husband.” Elaine hissed. She had been crying and her eyes shone wet and fierce.

“Congratulations. Stay away from him.”

With Percival’s help Arthur kept Lancelot on his feet. The knight looked from face to face. Distress and confusion wrinkled his brow. “Percival, you’ve put some clothes on.” Lancelot finally murmured. He patted the big knight’s arm as he continued to study everyone in turn. Arthur felt achingly sorry for Lancelot in that moment. The King did not really have any notion of what was going on but he knew the look in Lancelot’s eyes. It was the look of a man who had blithely been living his life, complacent if not content, and then suddenly looked up to find that nothing was as it seemed and all the things he knew for certain were mere fantasy.

“The spell is broken.” Elaine announced. She was trying to sound authoritative but the effect was ruined as she drew her sleeve across her face to mop at the moisture there. “We need to get out of here.”

“I think she’s right.” Merlin said tilting his head up and seeming to sniff the air. “This world is collapsing.”

Everyone looked around. The grey field in which they all stood now seemed ominous. Was it getting smaller? It must be because the gate the Lady of the Lake had used to send them to this world seemed to be moving toward them. Merlin pointed to the gate and without further discussion the company started toward it.  
*


	4. Chapter 4

By the lakeside Nynaeve took a seat to wait for the men of Camelot to return. She took a deep breath of the evening air and tried to convince herself to relax. Freya was nearby. Though Nynaeve could not see her she sensed the Lady’s presence. Nynaeve was on the point of speaking to the Lady just to fill the silence that she might otherwise fill with worry. But, as she opened her mouth, the gate shimmered. 

Nynaeve started to her feet as Elyan and Gawain emerged. These two were immediately followed by Percival and Lancelot. Nynaeve caught her breath at the sight of her brother and would have moved forward but the procession kept moving and now Leon and a woman had come forth. Arthur appeared next and the King immediately looked behind him. Then he turned as though he would go back through the portal but in the next second Merlin emerged. Arthur reached back to take the wizard’s wrist and hurry him forward and away. 

One of the knights, Gawain- Nynaeve realized belatedly- took her arm and began pulling her from the portal. Nynaeve did not resist but she twisted her neck to keep an eye on the gate. Nothing happened. Coming to a distance of about a dozen yards from the gate everyone stopped and turned to observe the portal nervously. Still nothing happened and Nynaeve wondered if she shouldn’t ought to say something but then the gate crumpled in on itself like paper crumpled into a ball until it disappeared completely.

“It’s gone?” Elyan asked after a collective sigh escaped the group.

“Yes, I think so.” Merlin answered.

“All of it? The whole world?”

“I think so.” Merlin repeated. Nynaeve felt herself shiver.

“Lancelot, are you all right?” She went to her brother, who Sir Percival was partially supporting, and touched his arm with one hand and brushed his cheek with the other.

“I . . . . Nynaeve?” Lancelot looked as though he’d had a bad shock and Nynaeve worried because Lancelot didn’t need any more shocks.

“Yes. Do you remember?” Nynaeve asked smiling gently. 

Before Lancelot could answer Freya appeared. She held her arms open to her son and called his name. Lancelot took an almost involuntary step forward but then he checked. He swallowed and blinked rapidly as he stared at Freya. Then he stared at everyone but Freya. Finally he took a deep breath and tried to square his shoulders. “I remember.”

“Lady of the Lake, are you able to explain what’s going on.” Arthur struggled through a sense of profound awkwardness to summon some indignation. At the same moment he spoke he realized that he still had hold of Merlin’s wrist from when he had grabbed it- honestly, why had the wizard decided to dawdle near a disintegrating world? Arthur let go of Merlin and fought back a resurgence of awkwardness.

“An explanation would be welcome but I am not the one in the best position to give it.” The Lady of the Lake’s voice was neutral rather than accusatory.

All eyes turned to Elaine. There was a small circle of empty space around Elaine that no one had been inclined to fill. Elaine faced them all with a fair show of courage- meeting every eye that sought hers. “What have I to explain? I used a spell to create a world where I might live with my husband in peace and happiness. Men, who have no just quarrel with us, came to our home and destroyed it. I am the one owed an explanation.”

“You are not married to Lancelot.” Freya replied. “He did not accompany you of his own will.”

“I am the mother of his child.” Elaine put one hand on her belly and reached out with the other to Lancelot. “And Lancelot did come with me of his own will.”

“I- I did marry Elaine.” Lancelot’s face was flushed but he tried to speak calmly. He did not take Elaine’s hand. “I did not know who I was. I remembered nothing before- before coming to the lake but I agreed to marry her.” Elaine smiled, though it was clear that she was disappointed Lancelot had not taken her hand.

“All right.” Arthur said rubbing at the skin of his forehead and along the bridge of his nose. “Let’s start from the Cailleach. Lady of the Lake, you told us your son had been kidnapped. How long was Lancelot with you? And what happened to his memory?” When Arthur said that the Lady of the Lake had claimed to have lost her son Elaine made a derisive snort.

“I told you, I found Lancelot- who has become as a son to me-“ This apposition was directed at Elaine who only rolled her eyes. “near death. He was grievously ill with the magic of the veil. His spirit was greatly afflicted. He could not remember himself and it seemed best that he not be encouraged to remember until he had an opportunity to heal.”

“It was during his convalescence that she,” Freya indicated Elaine with some disdain “approached him. Lancelot liked to explore the woods and Elaine took the opportunity to court him- knowing that he was ill. Perhaps Lancelot did agree to marry her but he did not do so with any understanding of himself. When I found that he was gone I knew she had deliberately taken him beyond my help. I knew she would never give him the chance to remember himself and so I asked for help.”

“Where did you get the spell? You can’t have done it on your own.” Merlin asked Elaine unconsciously rubbing his wrist where Arthur had all but yanked it out of his socket. Freya had clearly glossed over a couple key points in her story and Merlin did not know what to make of that but he would talk to Freya later.

“My grandmother is a dryad.” Elaine said after waiting a moment on the off-chance that someone else would say something and take the conversation in a different direction. She shouldn’t have to be here explaining herself to strangers. She owed nothing to the Lady of the Lake. She certainly owed nothing to the company from Camelot who had destroyed her home. But, Lancelot ... With his memories back Lancelot was likely to misinterpret her actions unless she could help him understand. Maybe they could all understand if Elaine could just find the right words. 

Elaine had had a very bad morning, her head ached and her feet hurt. She was tired and she was in no mood to defend herself to people who had wronged her. But Elaine supposed, if she thought about it, she could see where someone might not immediately be able to see things from her perspective.

“Because of my family I have never- Well, I’ve always enjoyed the woods. I met Lancelot on one of my walks. We fell in love.” Elaine paused here, defying anyone to contradict her. The wizard stole a quick glance at Lancelot. The knight clearly wished he were anywhere else.

“Lancelot was as lost as I was in his way. I could see- I have some magic of my own- how the past bore down on him. Even though he did not remember it, he was trapped by all the things that had come before in his life. He could not be happy the way he was and I knew the Lady of the Lake could not truly heal him. She only wanted to play at being mother before she eventually sent Lancelot back into the world where he would not even have the little defense that she provided against his unhappiness.”

“I went to my grandmother and told her the problem. She went to her sisters. Together they created a spell- just for me and Lancelot. Love was the largest component of this spell.” Elaine said this defiantly and again looked around in case someone wanted to argue with her. No one did. Lancelot didn’t even seem to be paying attention. The emotion was too acute and he was too powerless. He stood still as a stone and tried not to hear or see or feel any more than he had to.

“The spell created a safe place. It used what it found inside Lancelot to make a perfect place where we could be happy-“

“The spell made Camelot.” The Lady of the Lake broke in as the realization suddenly struck her.

“It did not!” Arthur denied vehemently. That place had not been Camelot.

“The spell made a place like Camelot from what Lancelot remembered.” Elaine clarified.

“Including us?” Percival asked.

Elaine regarded Percival. Then she studied the other knights. Finally she looked at Merlin. She took a few moments to choose her words before she spoke. “The spell- for all its power- was not capable of much nuance. There was some difficulty . . . Things did not work entirely as expected. You all became fairly literal translations of . . . ideas, of Lancelot’s memories and thoughts and feelings. The magic itself may have filled in some gaps, distorted a few things. None of you have any cause to be insulted. If Lancelot did not regard you with sincere affection, if he did not consider you truly friends then you would not have been there. Indeed, he admired you all. Though I can see where that might have been difficult to see from the outside. But,” Elaine pointed to Merlin as she found an argument that would help prove her point “In his mind you are Court Sorcerer. Would he think that if he didn’t regard you highly?”

“Elaine!” Lancelot said in a strangled gasp. He swayed on his feet a moment as powerful emotions churned through him and his gaze flicked fearfully between Merlin and Arthur.

“Oh. So . . . you knew.” Elyan was the first of the confused knights to put it together. “Lancelot knew about Merlin’s magic. He knew before . . .”

“Of course he did.” Leon muttered to himself because Lancelot and Merlin always had been thick as thieves.

“Well . . .” Gawain looked hurt and Merlin winced inwardly. Outwardly Merlin tried to smile reassurance to Lancelot. The man looked like he feared he had just sentenced his best friend to death.

“There was more to it though?” Arthur asked trying to make some sense of what they were being told. He ignored the revelation that Lancelot had known about Merlin’s magic except that he put a hand on Merlin’s shoulder in a possessive manner meant to reassure Merlin, Lancelot and anyone else who cared to notice. Merlin was never happier than at that moment that his confession to Arthur had been complete. There had been so much temptation at the time to omit this or that little detail. It had all been so painful and Arthur had felt so terribly betrayed but because everything had been disclosed he did not live under threat of future revelations. 

“Your ‘Camelot’” Arthur went on. “Was not just a collection of memories and feelings. Some important things were different.”

“We had to have a safe place where we could be happy. That meant that certain changes had to be made.” Elaine agreed.

“What was different?” Freya demanded. No one said anything for a moment. No one wanted to be the first one to start putting words to thoughts.

“Arthur was not there and Elaine was Queen.” Gawain finally said because someone had to. 

“Changes had to be made so that everything could fit properly.” Elaine refused to acknowledge any possibility that she had done wrong. 

“Except that wasn’t going to work, was it.” Freya smiled. She knew what had happened now. Poor Lancelot. He might love Guinevere but Arthur could not be written out of Camelot.

“It worked fine.” Elaine said raising her voice. “We were happy for months. We could have been happy forever but you couldn’t leave us alone. You had to interfere and now the spell is broken. It’s all gone.” Elaine choked back a sob.

“Your spell was flawed. You left an important space empty.” Freya said shaking her head as she unraveled what must have happened. “That was where the counterspell could take hold.” Elaine had tried to make herself Guinevere. She was a second-rate Guinevere but that might have been all right as long as there was someone to be Guinevere and as long as that Guinevere was Queen. There could not be a Camelot though, without an Arthur. Even as magic addled as Lancelot must have been he knew himself to be a knight champion to his Queen- and to his King also, and Elaine had not been able to solve that problem completely.

“It wasn’t flawed. It just had to be a little different from the Camelot in Lancelot’s head. That was all right as long as he didn’t realize . . .” Elaine trailed off aware that she was close to admitting to a great deal of deception.

“As long as he didn’t realize who was missing. That was why Arthur was needed to break the spell. Once Lancelot could see Arthur everything else came crashing down.” The Lady of the Lake now understood her vision.

“Wait! You had Arthur and Lancelot fight.” Merlin was mostly following the conversation and he thought it made sense. There were already copies of Merlin and the knights in Elaine’s version of Camelot so the spell had a place for them. And if someone or something was part of Camelot but not essential to Lancelot’s idea of Camelot then that would not affect the spell either. It was only Arthur, who was essential to Lancelot’s idea of Camelot but not present in Elaine’s modified version, who could upset the spell’s internal consistency. But if Elaine knew the only way to keep her version of Camelot was to keep Lancelot away from Arthur then why had she engineered the duel? Then the answer hit him. “You wanted Lancelot to kill Arthur, didn’t you?”

“It would have been enough if Lancelot just defeated him.” Elaine said in justification as several pairs of horrified eyes focused on her. “Arthur just had to acknowledge the superiority of my claim and then it wouldn’t have mattered. The spell would have made room for Arthur in the category of defeated enemy and Lancelot would not have been able recognize him as anything else after that.” Elaine had been so close. Lancelot had won. It should have been over but he saw Arthur’s face moments too soon.

“Well, I think that’s enough for now.” Arthur said briskly. It was all so overwrought. Everyone needed to take a step back. The aftermath of Elaine’s spell was going to involve some turmoil- a lot of turmoil. Arthur cringed at the rat’s nest that awaited them. Yet, though it touched all of them to some degree Lancelot was going to have to bear the brunt of it. Right now Arthur just wanted to find a way to give the man a second to breathe. He would have liked to make some demonstration of support for him as well but Arthur wasn’t particularly good at that at the best of times. 

“Gawain and Elyan, why don’t you two get some food together.” Arthur ordered and watched as the two men shook off some of the weight of the last few minutes and loped off toward the horses. 

“Merlin, Nynaeve, would you please see that Elaine has anything she might need?” Arthur asked trampling over the feeling that he really had no idea what to do about Elaine. He did not want responsibility for the pregnant villain but until something was sorted out he needed to make sure that someone kept an eye on her. Neither Merlin nor Nynaeve looked especially pleased by the assignment but Nynaeve tried to smile as she took Elaine’s arm and invited her toward the small cottage by the lakeside. Merlin followed in their wake.

“Leon, Percival, Lancelot, we need firewood- a lot of firewood.” Percival was Lancelot’s best friend among the knights and Leon was a steadying presence. 

There, that was everyone taken care of, Arthur thought with a satisfied nod. Now, there was only the question of how he should occupy himself until the food was ready. Before Arthur could apply himself to that issue, he became aware that he wasn’t alone. The Lady of the Lake still stood at the shore regarding him quizzically. Arthur had hoped she had withdrawn as everyone else went their way. She had remained where she was though and Arthur redirected his mental energy to her. This was part of why he had come here, to talk with the Lady; to work on establishing a rapport; to prove that a mutually beneficial alliance could be formed- not just with magic users but magic beings. But, all that seemed so far away from where he was now.

“Arthur?” The Lady of the Lake looked young and innocent but appearances could be illusory. She had contributed her share to this situation. Arthur did not want to quarrel at the moment but the Lady of the Lake had sent them on their quest having encouraged them in false assumptions. Unless she planned on explaining that right now Arthur didn’t feel in the proper frame of mind to talk to her.

“Lady of the Lake.” Arthur answered stiffly.

“Thank you for rescuing Lancelot.” The Lady smiled and inclined her head. As often happened Arthur found it difficult to sustain hard feelings in the face of courtesy and gratitude. This was somewhat frustrating because Arthur needed a generous mix of anger and indignation to keep back the more complicated emotions.

“I was glad to help. I would still have been glad to help if you had told me everything.” Arthur answered sincerely. Squaring his shoulders Arthur gave the Lady a nod before turning away.  
*  
Lancelot picked up a fallen tree branch and stared at it a moment before taking a few steps and picking up another one. His mind dangled between memory and thought- neither one offered him refuge and he did not know where else to go. Lancelot bent to pick up a third branch but even as he reached for it the first two slipped from his grasp. Lancelot let himself sink to the ground. He put his head in his hands and sat miserably on the forest floor. Memories dragged him backward and as there was nowhere else for him he did not fight.

He had fallen in love with Elaine. He remembered that. Without his memories he had been something like a child. He knew he was not completely happy with his mother and sister. They were kind to him and he loved them but he had a yearning in his soul that they didn’t understand. He went walking in the woods whenever he could. They didn’t like him to go far but he knew he was searching for something even if he did not know what.

When he met Elaine she was sad. Lancelot had made her smile though and that was the first moment of genuine satisfaction Lancelot could remember in his new life. He had wanted to rescue Elaine from her loneliness. He wanted to be good and to do good. He and Elaine would talk for hours and she would tell him about all the good that was waiting to be done. There were monsters to face and villages to save and Lancelot knew that was what he wanted. With Elaine to guide him Lancelot would right wrongs. He would protect people. He would be a champion of truth and justice.

Though he now knew his purpose, Lancelot did not speak of his discovery to his mother right away. She would not encourage him. She believed he was too ill, too damaged to be allowed into the world. Lancelot was grateful to the Lady of the Lake for all she had done for him but he knew he could not get well unless he was allowed to pursue his destiny. He wanted to tell the Lady once he and Elaine had decided to get married but Elaine promised that it would be better to tell her after they had married and established their independence. Elaine was wiser than he was and so he had agreed. The two spoke words and clasped hands beneath an oak tree and the spirit of the tree blessed them.

After that, Elaine cast her spell. The spell revived some of Lancelot’s memories but he saw them as through a distorted glass. He was a Knight of Camelot and he knew that was exactly right. He fought all sorts of magical creatures and wild beasts. He did all manner of good deeds. He had his friends, his brothers. They were the best of men- larger than life and though he did not actually spend much time with them he knew they were there. And he had his Queen. She was beautiful and kind and wise and so very proud of Lancelot. It was everything Lancelot could have wished for- it was exactly what he had wished for, almost. 

If sometimes it felt strange to hold his Queen in his arms; if sometimes it felt like- for all the good deeds he was doing- nothing really changed; if sometimes he felt as though his friends- his beloved friends- had grown a bit boring and unpleasant; and if sometimes he seemed to lack a little passion, a little inspiration, a little vision; if he occasionally felt an inchoate longing for a leader, for a male counterpart to Elaine’s sovereignty- for a King, then those were not the sort of problems he could feel justified in complaining about.

Then it happened. It started as any other day. Lancelot was fighting a duel with some miscreant or other. He did not know why except that Elaine had told him to. That had been enough for him. It was the sort of thing he was always doing. It was his life. Except this time things were different.

Even from the beginning the enemy knight seemed somehow vivid. All the glorious pageantry of the tournament grounds suddenly seemed drab and dull. The enemy knight moved so swiftly and unpredictably that Lancelot- for the first time in a long time- wondered if he could win. Every time Lancelot thought he had the knight figured out he did something different. He set traps for Lancelot that Lancelot only just avoided and when the tide finally began to turn for good, when Lancelot set his own traps that misled or slowed the other knight Lancelot felt such a burst of exultation that it nearly took his breath away.

Lancelot was almost disappointed when he won because that was how it always went. But then just as Lancelot advanced to claim what felt like the first worthwhile victory in a long time Arthur was standing there and Lancelot understood. The world he’d lived in was revealed for the meretricious sham it had always been. All his life within that world was as insubstantial as a dream.

Things had happened quickly after that. Lancelot couldn’t cope with it. The world tasted and smelled differently. There was an immediacy to sounds that left Lancelot in a state of sensory confusion. He allowed this confusion to persist as long as possible but he had not been able to completely ignore what was going on around him. 

He’d been caught out living a fantasy that was deeply insulting to everyone he cared about. He’d been discovered imagining himself a hero while he did nothing- Nothing but make a mockery of what he valued. Lancelot despaired.

“Lancelot?” It was Percival. God, Percival. Lancelot could not lift his head to look at the other man.

“Lancelot.” Percival was kneeling in front of him and he put a hand on Lancelot’s shoulder.   
“You’re alive, Lancelot! Think of that. We thought we’d lost you.” Percival shook Lancelot’s shoulder to try and rouse him. “You’re alive.” Then Percival was hugging him. He slapped him on the back then pulled away enough to look into Lancelot’s face. 

“You won’t believe everything that’s happened since you’ve been gone. Uther’s dead but I guess you figured that much out.” Percival was smiling and he hadn’t let go of Lancelot’s arms. “Magic is no longer banned. You probably figured that out too but it’s such a story- you won’t believe. Camelot has just had a Magic Market Day. Can you credit that? It turns out it’s more complicated than just making magic legal. Arthur eventually wants at least one magic user to accompany each patrol- and patrols are going to take on more responsibility. We’re going to start doing more than just keeping an eye out for bandits, wild animals and natural disasters. Oh, the Saxons! You don’t know about the Saxons .. . . Camelot- well not just Camelot, but mostly Camelot- has agreed to take on the defense of the southern coast. Merlin is working on some sort of magic warning signal so that as soon as a ship is sighted all our forces will know where to go.”

Percival went on for a while and Lancelot eventually found that if he listened to Percival he could escape from himself a little bit. As his interest in the world outside of himself grew he became aware that his knees were starting to hurt. Percival couldn’t be that comfortable either now that Lancelot thought on it. When Lancelot looked around in preparation for getting up he saw Leon a few yards away leaning against a tree. The older knight smiled when he caught Lancelot’s eye.

“Come on. Let’s find a place where we can sit and talk.” Leon invited. Percival all but dragged Lancelot to standing and the three men walked a ways until they found a fallen log which they all decided was about the best they could expect. Lancelot still felt miserably self-conscious but he was excited too. So many things had changed. He grew eager for news. Lancelot wanted to catch up with the life he had had before the dorocha. He found he had questions.

“So, magic?” Lancelot couldn’t express his first query better than that. The possible consequences if Merlin’s secret was ever discovered had weighed heavily on Lancelot. Now that the secret was revealed . . . There didn’t seem to be a terrible rift between Merlin and Arthur but Merlin was a consummate actor and Arthur wouldn’t let personal feelings get in the way if he thought magic was best for Camelot. “Merlin . . . Magic? Is that all all right now?”

Leon and Percival exchanged a glance. “Yes.” The two men answered at the same time. Both knights drew out the syllable indicating their hesitation. The legacy of years of persecution, terror attacks, assassination attempts, ruthless suppression and ruthless retaliation could not be said to be all ‘all right’ but things were better now than anyone could have predicted at the time of Lancelot’s first death.

“The whole magic thing is a transition and it’s going to take a long time but it’s good. It’s a good thing” Percival hurried on. 

“And Arthur and Merlin?” Lancelot asked tentatively. The one thing that had managed to break Lancelot out of his self-absorption earlier was when he thought that he had inadvertently betrayed Merlin’s secret.

“It was hard for a while. I mean it could have been a lot worse- no blood was shed.” Percival tried to clarify. “But it was really hard. It’s better now- a lot better. They’re both different- in a good way. But I think that sometimes it’s still hard. You know, it was an incredibly important secret and Merlin kept it a very long time.” 

“Merlin’s done so many heroic things but I know it can’t have been easy.” Lancelot said softly. “I wish- maybe if I had been there I could have helped somehow.” 

Leon thought it was just as likely that Lancelot’s presence would have made things worse. A conspiracy would hardly have made the betrayal any more palatable. But, Leon doubted that Lancelot thought of keeping Merlin’s magic a secret as a conspiracy. Lancelot’s perspective on things was very different from Leon’s for a variety of reasons. As Leon reviewed how the events of the last few years would look from Lancelot’s perspective an unhappy thought occurred to him. 

“Lancelot,” Leon said reluctantly. “I need to tell you something that happened a while back. It’s all over and done with now and it’s old news for everyone else so don’t take it too much to heart.”

“Leon.” Percival warned. “Is this really the time?

“Is there going to be a better time?” Leon asked. “Everyone knows about it except Lancelot and that’s not fair. Besides, it’s best to get everything out in the open all at once. It hurts less that way.”

“What?” Lancelot demanded suddenly afraid.

“No one blames you.” Leon started off which did nothing to assuage Lancelot’s anxiety. “It was one of Morgana’s nasty convoluted plots. (She’s still alive and making mischief every chance she gets.) Any road, she created this . . . golem thing. She made it look exactly like you. It acted like you and everything. We believed it was you- returned to us. But, the creature was under her command.”

Lancelot looked appropriately horrified and Leon forged ahead. He hated doing this but the story was doubtless going through everyone else’s head and Lancelot had been denied the truth enough.

“This creature had- something- a talisman, some kind of jewelry?” Leon looked at Percival for help. The big man just shrugged not remembering the detail. “He gave it to Guinevere. The talisman had the effect of creating a sort of romantic compulsion. Agravaine (who turned out to be another traitor) engineered the result to its most dramatic effect. Guinevere and the creature were found together.”

“Oh god. It didn’t . . . Did it . . . Gwen.” Lancelot’s voice was pure anguish.

“No. No it wasn’t . . . It was compromising but not . . ..” That was the closest thing to good news Leon had for Lancelot. There had been no rape.

Lancelot choked back a relieved sob. He had deliberately not asked about Gwen. It had been terribly hard but after everyone had seen the imaginary Camelot Lancelot could not bring himself to speak of her.

“The golem killed itself and Guinevere was banished.”

“No!” Lancelot cried. “You had to know it was magic. Arthur had to know it was magic. Is that when it happened? Is that when Merlin revealed he had magic to prove Gwen hadn’t done anything wrong?”

Leon and Percival exchanged another look. “Gwen didn’t even know it was magic. It wasn’t until much later- after Arthur and Guinevere reconciled- that we learned about the magic.”

“Didn’t Merlin know?” Lancelot’s mind was spinning in all directions. “Surely he would not have let her be banished . . . .”

“I don’t know.” Leon admitted. “But, I think Merlin tried to keep an eye on Gwen until things got better.”

“Arthur should have known it wasn’t really Gwen. How could he have sent her away without any help but Elyan?” Lancelot moaned.

“Elyan didn’t go with her.” Leon said wondering if Percival might not have been right after all. Lancelot was not taking this well.

“What? Why? What’s wrong with you people?”

“Gwen did not want Elyan to have to share her disgrace. She knew she could get along on her own and- and she wanted to.” Leon did not know how to explain that Guinevere had felt guilty.

“She should have had a champion- someone to defend her honor.” Lancelot said dully. He realized he was crying and he viciously dashed the tears away.

“Yes, she probably should have.” Leon agreed. The problem was everyone had believed it- even Gwen. Banishment had seemed the best solution. “That’s all in the past now. In the end Arthur didn’t care if it was magic or not. Guinevere is Queen.”

“Good. Yes.” Lancelot murmured. “Gwen is Queen- always.”

The men sat in silence- each lost in his own thoughts- until they heard Gawain banging a spoon against a pot and calling out that dinner (or perhaps it was lunch) was ready.

“I can’t.” Lancelot said as Percival and Leon got up and started looking for a few token sticks. “I can’t face it. Just let me stay here.”

“If you start hiding now then there will never be an end to it.” Leon said firmly and Lancelot- who realized that fighting Percival and Leon on this would take more energy and effort than giving in- got to his feet. “Besides, you haven’t done anything wrong. You don’t have anything to feel ashamed over.”

When the three knights approached the campfire they found Arthur waiting for them with his arms crossed trying not to look perturbed. Percival smiled. Arthur looked like a school master waiting for his tardy pupils. Lancelot ducked his head as he went past but Arthur looked a question at the other two knights. They both returned a half-shrug. It was hard to know how Lancelot was holding up.

The food was good or perhaps Percival was just hungry. He was not the only one to wolf down his portion. He was happy to see that Lancelot ate hungrily too. As they ate Gawain started a conversation about the Saxons. He kept the talk light and interesting throughout the meal. Percival could not bring himself to contribute much though. He felt talked out. 

Percival was genuinely delighted that Lancelot had returned- though the how of that hadn’t been ideal. The very first time Percival had seen Lancelot, the knight had been riding across the countryside. Lancelot’s chainmail glittered and his were eyes alight with purpose. Percival knew instantly that that was what he wanted to be. Percival had never ventured far beyond his farm. Caring for his mother and his sisters left little time for adventuring. Yet, just that brief glimpse of Lancelot had shown Percival what he was meant for and he started to think about how he might provide for his family and still pursue his suddenly revealed destiny. 

Morgana had resolved that question for him. His mother and his sisters had been killed while Morgana’s undead army rampaged through their little village. Percival had been out in the fields and when he returned he had been left with nothing- not even the opportunity to fight his family’s killers. The helplessness of that had kindled the first genuine rage of Percival’s life. He wanted to hurt the witch. He wanted to tear her apart and burn anything she had ever touched.

A day later Lancelot returned. He walked through the devastated village and without saying a word he helped Percival make the last of the funeral pyres. There was something in that, something in the effortless decency that cooled Percival’s rage and soothed his helplessness. He was no longer alone. As the flames burnt themselves out the two men introduced themselves. 

Lancelot told him a story then. He told of a man, a brave man- loyal and clever. He said that that man served a Prince, a valiant Prince who would do good and great things. Lancelot promised that these two men were going to stop this destruction. They would bring peace and change the world. Lancelot had sworn to help these men- any way he could. He was going to meet them now. They would challenge the sorceress and her undead army. Finally, Lancelot had asked if Percival wanted to come along.

There was nothing strange about it at the time, even now- when those events had taken on some of the qualities of a dream- there was an inevitability to what happened next. Percival’s future had been sewn up after a few sentences with a stranger but it couldn’t have been otherwise. 

He had not been disappointed. From the beginning Percival had felt like he fit in. For the first time he had friends. Friends- not just the people he happened to live near who were nice enough- actual friends. Arthur was a King worth following. And Merlin- well, it might have taken a little longer for Percival to work out why Lancelot had such a high opinion of Merlin. 

It wasn’t that Percival disliked Merlin- it was impossible to dislike Merlin. It was just that while most of the loyal lovable scatterbrained foolishness Merlin displayed seemed completely natural, there was also some folly that seemed contrived. Some of Merlin’s wide grins, helpless shoulder shrugs and tall tales were pure artifice. Percival was observant enough to see that some of what the artifice concealed was an almost obsessive diligence- which confused Percival even more. He did not understand it and the pretense put him off. It put him off the more because Lancelot had an admiration for Merlin that bordered on hero-worship. At the time Percival had found that a little weird. It made better sense now.

Putting aside his now empty plate, Percival listened to Nynaeve announce that she and Elaine were going to get some sleep. The men around the fire relaxed visibly as Elaine left with Nynaeve. Percival was not tired himself. He had woken up in Elaine’s Camelot only hours ago. Yet, he was still glad to have time to just sit for a while. As he leaned back, hearing several satisfying cracks as his spine adjusted, Percival saw that Arthur and Merlin were talking quietly together. Percival watched idly. He and Leon had told Lancelot that all was well- as well as could be expected- between Arthur and Merlin. Percival supposed that was right as the two men stood close, heads bent together, Arthur’s hand on Merlin’s neck almost unconsciously drawing him nearer.

Percival had never regretted leaving the burnt remains of his former life and following Lancelot. There had been a few close calls and dangerous moments, naturally. And, losing Lancelot the first time had been devastating. Then he lost him a second time and that grief had had a bitter edge because it had been mixed with crushed hope and disappointment. But none of that had frightened Percival the way he had been frightened when Arthur refused to look at Merlin and Merlin’s eyes shone with desperation and power. Percival could not even have said what scared him. He couldn’t believe Merlin would bring magical violence to Arthur and Camelot. He could not believe Arthur would cast aside or attempt to harm his faithful friend. Yet Percival felt the world begin to crack. It was just fancy. It had to be. Percival was embarrassed by such melodrama but still he remembered that time with dread. So much depended on Arthur and Merlin. They held the future in their hands and for a moment it had seemed as though they would let it slip through their fingers.

As Arthur and Merlin’s conversation ended, Percival shook his head at his own foolishness. There was no doom waiting to fall upon the world if Arthur and Merlin quarreled. 

Merlin walked off toward the shore and Percival assumed he was going to speak to the Lady of the Lake. Percival was well-pleased that he would not have to be a part of that conversation. 

“Lancelot,” Arthur called as he came back toward the knights with a determined stride. “Walk with me.”

Lancelot had been lost to reverie but at Arthur’s request he scrambled to his feet. His eyes darted around and Percival gave him what he hoped was an encouraging smile. Though Lancelot looked a bit like a frightened rabbit he managed a fairly stoic, “yes, my Lord.” before falling into step with the King.

Percival changed his mind. If there was a conversation he was happy not to have a part in then it would be that one.

“Do you think one of you might go out and actually collect some firewood this time?” Elyan asked once Arthur and Lancelot were out of sight. “It’s getting chilly.”

“We had more important things to deal with.” Leon responded.

“I know.” Elyan acknowledged. “But you don’t have more important things now and I’m cold.”

Leon gazed at Elyan. It was even money at that moment whether Leon was going to launch into a stern scolding that would end with Elyan being sent out not only to collect firewood but also look in on the horses and give the plates a good scouring or Leon would get up and get the firewood himself. Before the dice finished rolling in Leon’s head Percival volunteered. It was actually getting chilly and Percival was glad to move around. As Percival left he made sure to head in as much of the opposite direction that Arthur and Lancelot had followed as he could.  
*  
The silence was not as uncomfortable as Arthur expected. The King felt like he had been floating in a miasma of worry, embarrassment, discontent and awkwardness since, well perhaps as far back as Nynaeve’s middle of the night visit. But, there was something normal in having Lancelot quietly beside him. Arthur had no way of knowing if Lancelot shared this feeling but in Arthur’s opinion the best thing for Lancelot would be a return to normal as soon as possible. Arthur felt terribly protective of Lancelot in that moment but knew better than to give any indication of that. So, he strove to be matter-of-fact

“Do you plan to come back to Camelot with us tomorrow?” 

“What?” Lancelot had heard what Arthur said but his brain wasn’t parsing the words.

“Do you want to come back with us tomorrow or would you rather stay here for a while and work things out with the Lady and Elaine?” Arthur asked slightly annoyed to have had to repeat himself. If it were him Arthur would definitely want to have some time away from Elaine. In fact, Arthur didn’t think he would ever want to see Elaine again but the child put paid to that option.

“I’m not sure I understand, Sire.” Lancelot said and he honestly didn’t.

Arthur sighed and gave the knight a sideways look. Lancelot wasn’t making it easier. Practical decisions had to be made. “I am asking you what you want to do, Lancelot. As I see it you have two choices. You could come back to Camelot and help me kick some cooperation into our allied knights while Elaine stays here with the Lady. You could take a little time to sort out your own . . . ., you know,” Arthur made a gesture toward his chest. “Then, after a little while you could come back and see how things stand.” That was the option Arthur would take in Lancelot’s position.

“Or you could stay here and work things out with the Lady and Elaine now. You could come back to Camelot after you settled what you wanted to do.” As far as Arthur could see those were the choices.

“There’s land nearby if you want it.” Arthur figured that Lancelot was entitled to a small land grant at the least. “You could set up a household for Elaine and the child. For you, too, obviously- if that’s what you want.”

This was where it began to get unpleasant. Arthur had no idea what Lancelot wanted to do about Elaine. He was responsible for the child and had to see to its support but what that meant in terms of actual domestic arrangements, Arthur didn’t want to guess. More than that, he didn’t want to offer any sort of opinion or make any assumptions. The whole situation was delicate and Arthur didn’t want to do anything to make it worse.

Lancelot watched the ground as Arthur spoke. He still wasn’t sure what Arthur was saying but he had the impression that Arthur wasn’t going to clarify further without being asked a specific question. “You- you want me to come back?”

“What? Yes.” Now Arthur was confused. “If you want to.” The idea that Lancelot might not want to come back suddenly struck Arthur forcefully and he cursed himself for not anticipating that. Arthur had thought . . . But, serving Camelot had gotten Lancelot killed. In fact, saving Arthur had gotten Lancelot killed. Then his reputation had been destroyed post mortem. 

Add to that that the fact that they had just emerged from a world tailored to Lancelot’s ideal and the key feature of that world had been a conspicuous lack of Arthur. That should have been a hint. Arthur had been trying not to think about the false Camelot though. It had been necessary to endure some talking about it. But, now that they had the bare bones of what had happened, it seemed a terrible invasion of privacy to even think about it.

Lancelot had not replied immediately and it was with a feeling of chagrin that Arthur began to think how to gracefully retreat from his assumptions.

Before Arthur could devise a strategy, Lancelot said very quietly, “You would let me come back?”

Lancelot had not known what to expect when Arthur asked to talk with him. If Lancelot could have spared the mental energy to consider anything beyond his own churning emotions he might have guessed Arthur’s feelings would be somewhere in the vicinity of disgust and loathing. 

Arthur had been asked to rescue a man who ought to have been honorably- not to say heroically dead- but was instead by some quirk of fate uselessly- not to say regrettably- alive. This rescue had been made necessary because Lancelot had wandered away from his caregivers and thus fallen into the hands of a woman whose idea of love involved entombing herself and her beloved into a hermetically sealed illusion. 

Then there was the illusion itself- wrong and humiliating in every possible way. Lancelot could not think about the illusion very much or he would start running- running and running until he reached the edge of the world. Then he would jump off. The little that he could think about the illusion left him in no doubt that he had grievously insulted everyone he cared about, exposed himself as a delusional egoist and revealed that he was . . .. revealed the secrets of his heart. At this point if Arthur were inclined to chop his head off Lancelot considered that he was welcome.

“Why wouldn’t I want you back?” Arthur’s brow furrowed. “I mean if you want to. God knows I could use you.”

Lancelot made a strangled sound and pain contorted his features.

“Ah,” Guilt and shame. Shame and guilt. Really, it was inevitable though Arthur had hoped that Lancelot’s otherwise sensible nature might have spared him a little. “You haven’t done anything wrong, Lancelot.”

“Well,” Arthur amended quickly. “You did conspire to conceal and abet the ongoing practice of magic. If you try to tell me you’re sorry about that though, I doubt I’ll believe you.”

Lancelot made another strangled sound that managed to end with the mostly articulate, “I had to protect, Merlin. He was, he was defending Camelot.”

“Mnn, yes.” Arthur said as though that reply neither surprised nor impressed him. As Lancelot looked pale and he seemed on the verge of making more choking sounds, Arthur relented. “Don’t worry about it. Having forgiven Merlin, it would hardly be fair to punish you.”

“I’m sorry-“ A spark of anger kindled in the King’s eyes and Lancelot raised a hand to forestall any interruption. “I’m sorry I didn’t try harder to find a way for- for things to be different.”

“So say we all, Lancelot.” Arthur’s lip twisted sardonically but the spark of anger was gone.

They walked a little while in silence. Lancelot felt he ought to be using this time to think but he couldn’t manage it. His mind was pleasantly blank.

“No one blames you for the . . . .” Arthur waived his hand to mean magic. There was something about magic- the concept, the idea- that seemed better expressed in gesture. “The spell put your brain through a colander and then strung it back together with clichés. I’m not saying there won’t come a time when one of the knights,” Arthur was thinking Gawain, “won’t tease you a bit about certain parts. But, it won’t be to hurt you, not really. You don’t have to answer for what happens in your head. You certainly don’t have to answer for whatever lunatic slush magic tries to make out of what’s in your head.”

Lancelot could say nothing.

“If you want to come back to Camelot tomorrow, a few weeks from now or a few months from now you are welcome.” Arthur felt it might ruin the moment if he were to say that if Lancelot could make a decision sooner rather than later then that would be much appreciated but it was no less true. Now that Lancelot had returned to them Arthur found he very much wanted the knight back at his side. He had an invasion to repel and he hadn’t been lying when he’d said he could use Lancelot.

“I want to come back.” The words came from Lancelot’s soul. He wanted the real Camelot. He wanted it the more for having just escaped a false one. “I just don’t know what to do about Elaine, Sire.”

Arthur grimaced in sympathy but he didn’t know how he could help on that front. Elaine made his skin crawl. Lancelot looked so forlorn, though. Arthur felt obliged to at least try to help. 

“Do you love her?” There, that was relevant.

“I loved her when I didn’t know who I was. Now . . . I don’t know that I can forgive her. I don’t think she even believes she’s done anything wrong.” Lancelot had not spoken directly to Elaine yet but he had lived with her for months. In the little she had said since the spell had broken Lancelot had heard nothing that sounded like remorse. “I thought she loved me.”

“She probably does love you.” Elaine had not expressed that in anything like a healthy way but there could be no denying the strength of her attachment.

Lancelot shook his. “No. She can’t. All the time I spent with her she was trying to stop me from being who I am. If she loved me she would not have lied.”

“It’s easy to lie to someone you love.” This proposition seemed amply demonstrated to Arthur. “It’s harder to lie to someone you respect.” And therein lay the meat of the matter. It was a grievous hurt, an insult past enduring, to be given love but be denied respect. “Though let us say,” Arthur added with a bitter smile “that it’s not impossible. In any event, you will have to find a way to be amicable at least.”

Lancelot nodded unhappily. “I’d like to have some time away from her before we make any long term decisions. But she needs to be taken care of and kept safe. Do you think- do you think she would stay here? Would the Lady let her?”

“I have no idea.” Arthur had no idea. “If that does end up being acceptable to all parties though, you will come back with us?”

“Yes.” Then, Lancelot said again, “Yes.” 

Arthur smiled. There was a plan now. They had established what was a desirable result and they had theorized a means to achieving it. That was the best he had hoped for.

“Arthur,” Lancelot paused. “It’s so strange . . . I feel like I have been gone such a long time.” The right words were still forming in Lancelot’s mind. “So much is different. It’s like . . . . You seem . . .”

“Changed.” Arthur supplied with resignation. 

“No. I was going to say . . .” Lancelot thought a moment more. “You seem the same. I mean you seem exactly like yourself somehow- more even than you were.”

An unexpected rush of sentiment closed Arthur’s throat and sent his eyes prickling. In that moment, Arthur thought this might be one of the best things anyone had ever said to him. Embarrassment that he had been so deeply and inexplicably moved followed quickly after that- but it was not quite enough to overwhelm the first surge of gratified pleasure. Arthur smiled. He thought he might try to laugh but then he realized nothing was really funny. Searching for something to say or somewhere to look Arthur shifted his weight. Unable to find words, Arthur reached to clasp Lancelot’s shoulder.

All the color drained from the world. A fierce wind howled through the forest. And then there was just cold.  
*  
She was waiting for him beyond the beach where the water lapped against a grassy bank. The moon shone bright and the light increased as it reflected off the water. Freya’s feet dangled off the edge and she kicked her bare legs to watch the water swirl around them. Merlin watched her as he approached. She looked so young, so young and pretty.

“Are you angry with me?”

Merlin considered the question as he walked to the bank and sat down beside Freya. He would have taken off his shoes to let his own feet dangle in the water but there was a sudden nip in the air so he wrapped his arms around his knees.

“No.” Maybe Merlin had spent too many years listening to Gaius and Kilgharrah to really be surprised when circumstances turned out to be different than described but he found he could not summon much indignation. Everything had turned out all right and so the how of it didn’t overly concern Merlin. If things had turned out differently though then Merlin’s anger would have been commensurate with the outcome.

“Arthur’s a bit miffed.” Merlin continued. “But I think he would be glad of an excuse not to be.” Merlin very much wanted Arthur and Freya to be friends- not just allies, friends. He wasn’t sure how either one of them felt about that though.

Freya smiled ruefully and looked out over the water.

“Why not just tell us about Lancelot?” Merlin asked. Just because he wasn’t angry about the misdirection that did not mean he was not curious.

“I told you, when I found him he was very sick. I don’t know how he escaped the veil- and he doesn’t either, he had no memory of himself. It was not certain at first that he would live.” Freya said still gazing across the lake. “There seemed no point in raising hopes- also, Lancelot had already seemed to have had one resurrection. I wanted to put some planning into what to say. Perhaps I also thought that since he didn’t have his memory then maybe this would be a chance for him to . . . follow another road. Lancelot was not given an easy destiny and he has already died once for it.”

“Would his memories have returned on their own?”

“Yes. But, I suppressed them.” Freya admitted. “He was better off without them while he recovered. He was restless enough as it was. His memories would not have given him peace. Eventually, when he was better, I would have restored them but there was no hurry. If I withheld them longer than absolutely necessary it was out of a desire to protect him. He is as a son to me now. I meant that. I wanted to protect Arthur and Camelot as well. This place,” Freya spread her hands, “was made to nurture and heal and I have become a part of that. I feel the water and it feels like arms stretching forth to embrace. This power was not created to answer Lancelot’s need but there he was. I could not have ignored him.”

“What do you mean you wanted to protect Arthur and Camelot as well?” Merlin asked with a sudden feeling of unease.

“As I said, Lancelot’s destiny is not an easy one. He gave one life to that destiny. I thought that could be enough.” Freya said wistfully.

“What do you mean?” Merlin asked again though he thought he knew what Freya meant. “What is Lancelot’s destiny?”

Freya gave Merlin a reproachful look but she answered, “He will seek Camelot. He will be a Knight of the Round Table. And, he will truly love Queen Guinevere. You must already know that, Merlin.”

Merlin had not- officially- already known that. No one had ever told him of Lancelot’s destiny but he could not claim to be surprised. “There are many kinds of love and many ways to show it.” 

“Yes, and that can sometimes be its own source of difficulty.” Freya said softly.

“Before all else, true love seeks the happiness and the welfare of the beloved. There is no difficulty in that. It’s the simplest thing there is."

Freya looked sad but did not argue. “I knew Lancelot met with Elaine in the forest.” Freya went on after a while. “I thought it might even be good for him to have a distraction. I did not anticipate Elaine would be quite so . . . fixated. The spell she cast, it was very, very powerful. I told you the truth: I could not see into the spell. I did not know what she had done. I was afraid and I called for help.” Freya gently let her shoulder bump against Merlin’s. She smiled, inviting him to smile back.

“If I’d told you about Lancelot as soon as you had arrived, there would have been a lot of explaining to do. As time was different within the spell every minute mattered.” Freya watched Merlin’s expression. “It also occurred to me that if I told you that a grown man had gone off with a grown woman into a magically created realm then it would be harder to explain the danger. Lancelot did not have his memories but even without his memories I do not believe he would knowingly consent to live in a waking dream.”

“In a vision, I saw Arthur and Lancelot embracing and the world of the spell dissolving but I did not know how to speak of this. Would you or Arthur have done anything differently if you had known everything from the beginning?”

“No, probably not.” Merlin agreed. He could follow every step of Freya’s reasoning. Those with magic- especially those with strong magic- could sometimes catch glimpses of the future, experience an episode of clairvoyance, have a strange feeling or a sudden impulse. It was impossible to know how to communicate these things to those without magic. Any translation was bound to be imprecise or inaccurate- not even the sorcerer always understood correctly. It was frustrating for all involved and it was a constant temptation for the sorcerer to appoint himself sole arbiter of what information should be withheld and what revealed. It was a temptation that was so strong that it did not confine itself to the realm of magical intuition but extended into other spheres.

“So, it all worked out in the end and there is no cause for any rancor.” Freya smiled contentedly. “We are all friends.” Merlin smiled too but though he was in no position to lecture he wished Freya could have trusted them with the truth. 

“Was I wrong, Merlin?” Freya asked tentatively perhaps sensing something of Merlin’s thought. 

“It all worked out in the end.” Merlin repeated Freya’s words. That was what was important.

The two sat in easy silence and then Merlin started smirking to himself. In response to Freya’s inquisitive look he said, “You’re going to be a grandmother.”

Freya’s eyes twinkled with delight. “It’s going to be a boy- a healthy, beautiful boy.”

“You can tell that?” Merlin asked wondering about what sort of spell was involved.

“Yes.” Freya’s smile then faded a little. “I do feel sorry for Elaine. I doubt she meant any harm. She can’t have really understood what she was doing.”

“Why would she go to such an extreme?” Merlin felt sorry for Elaine too now that it seemed she was no longer a threat. “Why create a magic world? Why run off? It all seems so unnecessary. I mean Lancelot was falling in love with her.”

“She does have some magic. Perhaps she caught a glimpse of Lancelot’s destiny and thought she could change it. Maybe she thought I would disapprove.” Freya guessed. “Or maybe she’s just a lonely, romantic girl who’s listened to too many bard’s tales.”

“Nynaeve’s taking care of her now but she and Lancelot are going to have to talk soon, very soon if Lancelot wants to return to Camelot tomorrow. And, there are bound to be tears.” Freya said sadly. 

Merlin was on the point of saying something along the lines that it was possible for Lancelot and Elaine to work something out. But, as he opened his mouth, a thunderous boom cracked the sky like thunder. “What was that?” Merlin scrambled to his feet and looked around.

Freya had risen up until she was hovering just above the water’s surface. She, too, was looking around searching for the cause of the disturbance. Merlin watched her. He assumed that she would figure it out first. Confusion clouded Freya’s expression for a moment and then her eyes widened. Merlin had just enough time to see shock register there before Freya disappeared into the lake with the force of a plunging knife.

“Freya!” Merlin called but there was not so much as a ripple in the water to mark her movement. Merlin oscillated between irritation and fear as he looked around for any explanation. The night was so clear. From his vantage Merlin could see far out across the lake but there, all was stillness. 

Turning Merlin looked down the long beach but there was nothing there either. Finally, Merlin turned fully and gazed over the forest. There! Some distance away among the trees there was a silver light. The place glittered like light on frost. Merlin suddenly realized that he did not know where Arthur or any of the knights were. He started running.  
*


	5. Chapter 5

As Arthur touched Lancelot’s shoulder he felt a sudden pulling. After that he was somewhere else. He had no sense of transition or time passing. He was standing in the forest with Lancelot having finished a long, occasionally fraught but ultimately satisfactory conversation and in the next instant he was alone on a rocky windswept plane. It was terribly cold. Arthur saw the white vapor of his breath with every exhale. Excalibur’s hilt though seemed warm in his hand and he clutched it tightly.

“Lancelot?” Arthur turned carefully, trying to get his bearings. There was something odd about the rock formations. They were massive but their surface was smooth. Arthur paused to examine the one nearest to him and found that when he stared hard at the rock an image began to appear. The image quickly gained clarity and Arthur realized that he was looking at the forest where he had just been.

Cautiously Arthur raised his hand and touched the image. The rock was as smooth and slick as oil on glass. Arthur pressed harder and then harder still but there was no give in the image.

“Well, not before time.”

Arthur whirled drawing Excalibur in the same motion. His heart sank when he beheld the cracked grey visage of the Cailleach.

“You can put that away, Arthur. I did not bring you here to harm you.” The Cailleach said as she moved nearer to Arthur leaning heavily on her staff.

“I think I’ll just hold on to it anyway, thanks.” Arthur said with an insouciance he did not feel. 

“It is a beautiful thing.” The Cailleach watched Excalibur as the sword shone in the moonlight. “One of the great treasures- you do well to keep it close.”

The look in the Cailleach’s eye sent a shiver down Arthur’s spine and his grip tightened. 

“Are the Dorocha . . . ?” Arthur trailed off. His could not keep up a façade of nonchalance with the memory of the Dorocha before him.

The Cailleach shook her head. “The Dorocha are locked safely away.”

Arthur paused a moment to let the crushing relief work its way through him before he mastered his wits. The assurance that the Dorocha were not about to be unleashed on his kingdom once more gave him a- very possibly false- sense of security. 

“What’s going on then? Where’s Lancelot? You released him. You have no more claim on him. If no one needed to die to mend the veil what game were you playing?” Arthur only guessed that the Cailleach had released Lancelot but he was confident in this guess because the other possibilities, escape or rescue, seemed even more far-fetched.

“It was only necessary that someone sacrifice his life to heal the veil. It was not necessary that someone die. Usually the two go together but not always.” 

“That sounds like a pretty fine technicality.” 

“Some of the most powerful of all magics spring from technicalities.” The Cailleach smiled. “Lancelot is the reason we are able to speak. He is the bridge that has made it possible for you to come here.”

“Oh, yes? How does that work?” Bravado was coming easier now, as the Cailleach seemed to be actually answering his questions. The novelty was exhilarating. He lowered Excalibur and took a deep breath of the freezing air.

“He sacrificed his life, so he is mine. But Lancelot’s destiny is with you and Camelot. So he has a place in both worlds. Through him both worlds can come together- touch briefly.” 

“All right.” That could be so. Arthur could not trust his intuition about what was and was not possible with magic so he could not judge the Cailleach’s assertion on its merits. “But, why do it?”

“So that I could speak to you.”

Arthur raised his hands in utter bewilderment. The eloquence of the gesture was somewhat marred by the fact that he would not let go of Excalibur but he still managed to convey incredulity. It was so preposterous that he didn’t know where to begin. “Why would . . . I’m not difficult to find, Cailleach. Why would you resort to such an elaborate . . . What can you possibly have to say to me?”

“Do you think it is as easy to travel between worlds as it is to travel between kingdoms?” The Cailleach’s expression was full of chilly disdain and Arthur admired it on a purely professional level. “The last time we were able to meet face to face the dead had been unleashed to wreak their vengeance on the living. I’m sure that neither one of us is eager to repeat that experience. We might have had our discussion then and saved time. It was not my doing that prevented that.”

“You were too eager to claim your human sacrifice for conversation.” Hot blood rushed to Arthur’s frozen face but he managed to keep his voice level.

“Stopping the Dorocha was a matter of some urgency but we should have talked, Arthur. As I said, I was not the one who prevented that.”

“Why did you not speak to Merlin then?” Arthur could no longer prevent some of the shame and anger from leaking into his voice. How could he have any credibility with this creature when she had seen how his own people treated his authority?

“Merlin,” The Cailleach seemed to taste the name as she spoke it. “Merlin is not the King and after I saw how it was between you why would I expect him to relay a message?”

Arthur had no answer. Even if the Cailleach was lying she had won this round on form. It was so cold. Arthur’s feet had gone numb and it was an increasing struggle not to let his teeth chatter. He had to figure out what the Cailleach wanted soon if he expected to think coherently about whatever it was.

“All right. We’re talking now. What do you want from me?”

The Cailleach was silent for a time. Arthur watched her and tried to ignore the biting wind.

“The world is changing. The old magic has lost its way.” The Cailleach finally began. “The old religion anchored it for a time but its reign is over. Prophecies that hung in the distance like stars now hurtle toward us in a trail of flame.”

“And I am to understand what from that exactly?” 

The Cailleach smiled unpleasantly. “I will endeavor to make it simple for you. You would be the Once and Future King? You would unite Albion? You would bring peace to the kingdoms? Well, my lad, that is not going to happen with magic in the state it’s in. You need to fix it and the sooner you do the better off we’ll all be. I have brought you here in order to offer you some help as you appear to need it.”

“I was not aware that magic was in any sort of state. And even if it were, I am not magic. How do you think I would fix it?”

“Of course you are not magic. You cannot be.” The Cailleach waived the objection away as though Arthur was deliberately bringing up trivia. “As for what is wrong with magic, you must feel it . . . Or, no.” The Cailleach was brought up short for a moment but then regained her poise. “Why do you think there are so many magic creatures abroad? What has driven them from their dens to harass the dwellings of mortal men? Even you must have noticed the growing unpredictability of certain spells? The dead have never been so near the living. Do you think the veil between worlds would tear for Morgause if all was as it should be? I am very powerful, Arthur. I feel the slow change and I don’t like it.”

“I’m not convinced there is some pervasive problem with magic.” Arthur said this as firmly as he could although his thoughts ran in all directions.

“No? Would it not answer many questions, Arthur?” The Cailleach waited but Arthur remained resolutely quiet. 

“Is it the warlock?” It was a guess but it was immediately confirmed as Arthur’s expression grew stonier. “He did not tell you but he may not know.” The Cailleach coaxed. “He is young and though he may draw on the land’s magic for some spells, he is his own truest source of magic. He is . . . unique.”

“So what is it that you think has happened to magic? And, what do you imagine I can do about it?” Arthur asked struggling to be reasonable. Could there be something wrong with magic? Arthur was cold. He couldn’t think. He feared he was mishandling something important but it was so hard to concentrate. 

“What happened to magic?” The Cailleach repeated the question as though she had not considered it before. “It happened as most things do: little by little and bit by bit. Magic is partly wild but not completely. It roams and wanders but it is bound to the land and to the people. It draws its strength, it draws its very self from that connection. But, over time that connection grows slack. Magic wanders and cannot quite find itself again. The problem accelerates as the people forget, as traditions are abandoned. Magic, the land, the people, they are all reflections of each other in a way and yet they are becoming like strangers. It is like being lost . . . like exile. If the connection were to break completely or to hold but continue to twist and skew then . . .”

“What?”

“I don’t know. Chaos and disaster? Truly wild magic would run unconstrained bringing destruction in its wake? Magic would disappear from the world completely? Perhaps magic will simply grow more volatile and unpredictable. I don’t know. But, I am afraid.” The Cailleach spoke the last words in a voice almost too soft to hear.

Arthur’s eyes watered in the cold. He was moved. He couldn’t help it. He knew that there was a good chance he was being taken advantage of in some way but he was still moved. He knew he should question. He needed to keep perspective. There was no reason to trust the Cailleach and yet the Cailleach had become a person to him in the course of their conversation when before she had been nothing but a figure of menace. Trusting people came easily to Arthur- too easily, he knew. “You still have not said what you want from me. I do not see how I can have any part to play in this.”

The Cailleach gave Arthur a skeptical look that not only communicated that she did not believe him but that she didn’t even think he believed himself. “There are . . . anchors, treasures, talismans of great power that symbolize and facilitate the unity of the land and the people, magic and the law. Gather them. As the Once and Future King they should not be too difficult for you to find. Gather them then use them. Anything else you do- no matter how grand it may seem- will be hollow if you do not do this. You have one treasure already but you must find the remaining three. Quickly, Arthur, there are many players in this game and even those inclined to be on your side will not wait forever. If magickind does not believe you are capable of becoming what you are destined to be they will work against you.”

Arthur closed his eyes. The cold wasn’t so bad now but he felt tired. He didn’t see the point of asking the Cailleach to explain any more. He just wanted to rest a little, maybe if he could just lean against one of the rocks . . .

The Cailleach was about to continue her story without Arthur’s prompting but suddenly she frowned and seemed to take a long look at him as though she had just noticed something that had escaped her before. 

“You’re cold.” She said it almost as though it were an accusation.

Arthur didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure he’d heard properly and he couldn’t summon the energy to seek clarification.

The Cailleach’s eyes flashed gold. The wind, though it did not cease, grew less. After a few minutes Arthur blinked. His head throbbed but he was still thinking more clearly now than he had been. He tried to take stock of himself. The cold was still a bitter ache cold but it was no longer crippling. 

“Why didn’t you say something earlier?” The Cailleach asked still in a somewhat accusatory tone.

Arthur considered telling the Cailleach that he hadn’t said anything earlier because they had been playing a petty but important game wherein the Cailleach tried to force him to admit he didn’t want to freeze to death and Arthur tried to prove that he was impervious to physical discomfort. Now it occurred to Arthur that it was just possible that he had been playing the game by himself. Even so, the Cailleach had to understand why he wasn’t about to complain about the weather so he didn’t bother answering her.

With his faculties somewhat restored Arthur quickly reviewed what he and the Cailleach had said up until this point. It seemed mostly coherent. With a mental effort, Arthur thought back to the last thing he had heard: “You want me to go looking for treasure?”

The Cailleach looked aggrieved but said, “If you are to unite Albion you must have its four ancient treasures. You have Excalibur already. That is one but there are three others.”

“You are mistaken. Excalibur is not an ancient treasure.” Excalibur was a fine sword and it was magic but it couldn’t be called ancient.

“Oh no? You think Excalibur is new made?” The Cailleach shook her head enjoying her superior knowledge. “I know Excalibur of old. I am closest kin to it of all the treasure. It is of air and winter. It has taken other forms but how could it not be drawn into a blade forged by a good man’s sweat, tempered in a dragon’s fire, quenched in the sacred lake of Avalon then sheathed deep in the earth itself and, finally drawn forth by the Once and Future King?”

Cautiously Arthur looked down at the sword he still held tightly. The Cailleach wasn’t making sense. Was she saying that there was something to Excalibur beyond its physical form? Arthur did not see how that could be so but there didn’t seem to be any point in arguing. “Are you telling me there are three other magic swords waiting to be found?” 

“I said there were three other treasures, not swords.” The Cailleach impatiently waived his question away.

Arthur considered taking offense at her tone but even with the Cailleach’s magic keeping back the worst of the freezing wind he was still very cold. He needed to get this interview over with as soon as possible.

“The second treasure is the Table. It was first used by the ancient Kings. It is earth and spring and renewal. It stands for justice as the sword stands for peace. The Table has been lost for centuries though. I can give you no guidance regarding its whereabouts.”

Arthur’s eyes widened and though he quickly smoothed his expression the Cailleach stopped to regard him narrowly. “What?”

“I might possibly have some idea where to start looking.” Arthur admitted. He wasn’t sure if the Table would still be in the old keep or if the Round Table that he and his companions had found there was actually the treasure the Cailleach was talking about but it had to be a possibility. At least, Arthur thought to himself, the Table could honestly be called ancient. It wasn’t completely implausible that magic might be involved.

“Good. That’s very good.” The Cailleach sounded eager. It was a discordant emotion for her. “Perhaps you are not as far behind as I feared. That is two then.”

“The third treasure is the Spear. This was the weapon that inflicted the eternal would upon the Fisher King. It is called Rhongomynyad, the Spear of Truth. It is spirit and flame.” The Cailleach raised an eyebrow hopefully in question. Arthur shook his head. 

“Rhongomynyad is truly lost then.” The Cailleach sighed. “Perhaps it is still in the Wasteland but I do not know. There will be signs and portents for you to follow as you seek it out.”

“Well, that will be convenient.” Arthur drawled. He didn’t see himself going back to the Wasteland any time soon. The Cailleach looked askance at his tone but made no comment

“You have encountered the fourth treasure before, the Cup of Life.”

Arthur’s heart sank at this pronouncement. The cold followed hard on the heels of his despondence reminding him that he was not safe here. “But the Cup was destroyed with Morgana’s army of Undead?”

“The Cup holds the power of life. Its element is water. Its season is summer. It encompasses love and the human heart. Do you think such a precious thing could be destroyed?” The Cailleach said witheringly. 

“From your tone I presume the answer is meant to be ‘no’ but I can’t see that you’ve made an argument. A great many precious things have been destroyed in the world, Cailleach, as I’m sure you know.” 

For several seconds the Cailleach stared at Arthur in utter bemusement. Then her mouth thinned into a hard line and Arthur waited for the ‘foolish and presumptuous mortal’ shtick but it didn’t come. Instead the Cailleach turned her head to the side a moment as though attending to some internal dialog. When she did finally speak her voice was more patient then Arthur would have guessed possible.

“The four treasures are eternal. Over time, their forms may change but they remain the same. They are in balance representing forces in tension. The Cup was first called Ceridwen’s cauldron and it blessed Albion with summers of great abundance. As time passed the priestesses became more and more focused on the Cup’s power to heal, to give life, to take it away and to twist it into something else. Many of its other powers have been forgotten and it became known as the Cup of Life. The priestesses used the Cup to symbolize the power of the Old Religion but the Cup is not a treasure of the Old Religion. It belongs to Albion.”

“When the Priestess Nimueh died the Cup was lost for a time before the Druids found it. You know what happened then, don’t you?” 

“I know the Cup was used to hold an army in a state that was neither life nor death and it enslaved that army to my sister’s will.” Arthur felt anxiety begin to roil inside him. The cup of life was a dangerous object. He had wanted to believe that it had been destroyed even as Merlin seemed confident that it would turn up again. Now the Cup was back, ready to be snatched up by Morgana or someone equally dangerous.

“So it did, until the Cup was overturned. It disappeared in the aftermath of its clash with Excalibur. It was lost but I know where it is now.” 

The Cailleach paused to regard Arthur carefully. Despite the spell she had woven, the essence of her own magic snatched greedily at the warmth in him. They stood on the furthest outskirts of her realm and yet she felt the heat within him diminishing. Silently she cursed the fragility of human flesh. Arthur could not endure much longer. But, there were still things she needed to tell him. She had not expected that he would know so little. She had also not expected the curiosity that, though it was cloaked beneath heavy layers of suspicion and hurt, could not be entirely repressed. “The cup has returned to one of the great strongholds of the old magic- the proving ground of heroes, The Castle Perilous.”

“That doesn’t mean anything to me, I’m afraid.” 

“The Castle Perilous was once known throughout Albion. It called to the world promising the answer to any quest to anyone who dared come forth. Many died within its walls. Many more tasted bitter defeat, but some were made heroes.” The Cailleach sighed softly. “As the power of the Old Religion began to fade and men and women turned away from magic of all kinds, the Castle was abandoned and hidden in the mists.”

“All right.” Arthur resisted the urge to shiver and stamp his feet against the ever-encroaching cold. “Four treasures, what happens if they are brought together?”

“That will be up to you.”

Arthur shook his heads in frustration. “I cannot draw upon their magic. I would not choose to do so if I could.”

The Cailleach shrugged dismissing, once again, what Arthur felt was the central point. “Possess them all and no one will dare dispute that you are the Once and Future King. Possess them and you can call back the land’s magic. You must go to the Castle Perilous and retrieve the Cup. Then you must do everything you can to secure the Spear and the Table.”

“Must I?” Arthur had finally had enough of the Cailleach’s high-handedness. “If the Castle has been hidden this long then why should I go look for it? If someone else finds it and uses the cup or the spear to do harm then- then we’ll find a way to deal with it but I’m rather caught up in more prosaic methods of bringing Albion together- even if that is not what you consider most important.”

The Cailleach struggled to conceal her surprise. She had not expected a refusal. Surely Arthur could not help but be drawn into such a quest. She had seen his interest though he had tried to conceal it. He must know he wanted these things. Yet, he was obstinate. This obstinacy was fueled by an anger she had not sensed in Arthur when last they met. 

“Forget the evil that would be done should the Cup or any of the treasures ever be found and misused. These are the treasures of Albion. You have no magic of your own and you are vulnerable. You are the more vulnerable if magic is not brought back into harmony with Albion. You are meant to have these things. Do you think it was an accident that Excalibur all but fell into your hands or that, after centuries, you have some idea of where to look for the Table. You would be King? Claim what’s yours.”

“I don’t need some magical trinkets to prove a damn thing.” Arthur snarled. The anger warmed him and he clung to it. “And you are not going to manipulate me by implying that I do. I’m not going to go running errands to gain you approval.”

The Cailleach better understood the anger now. Perhaps she should not have goaded him earlier. She made a small tactical adjustment. “Do you think that Albion is just the kingdoms on your maps? You have responsibility to the magic of Albion as much as to the land and people. Have you given thought to the fair folk- the elves and the sidhe? What of the brownies and the goblins, hmm?” Arthur’s eyes widened then narrowed and the Cailleach smiled. “You have thought about them then. You need these treasures as you need your knights. Even if you cannot bring yourself to use them you cannot command anyone’s respect unless you at least possess them and you must have their respect. You know that, Arthur. You know it.” 

“But there is nothing I can do.” Arthur’s voice came out raggedly, the anger bled from it. He had nothing magickind valued.

The wind howled across the vastness of winter. Darkness closed in upon the two figures who were now standing very near. The sword Excalibur glinted between them. Arthur felt like he was being bludgeoned by his magiclessness. His ignorance of magic was being used like a club to herd him, manipulate him. He hated it. He hated it more because he knew he was being defensive, that it was a tactic and he was letting it get under his skin because he was still so damn disgusted with himself. With an effort he let go of some of his hurt so that he could try to think about the bigger picture.

“This must be done, Arthur.” The Cailleach insisted. She studied Arthur. What did he really believe about his destiny? Did he truly doubt? Or was he afraid of how much he wanted it all to be true? As long as he did what she wanted the Cailleach decided it didn’t matter.

“I don’t understand.”

“You must decide what to do anyway.”

It was too cold to think. It was too cold to do anything but Arthur strove to put his scattered thoughts in order. He shook his head. It felt warmer now but Arthur’s mind had grown more sluggish. Did he trust the Cailleach? No, he did not. But, he had seemed to see something in her that caught at his conscience. 

“Arthur . . . . Now. Tell me what you are going to do.” The Cailleach’s voice startled Arthur out of his stupor. “Before you freeze to death or the mage does something . . . drastic.”

Confused, Arthur looked around. The stone he had looked at earlier had changed. It still showed the forest, which was the same as it had been when Arthur had left it, but now figures had been added. Look, there was Leon. Arthur smiled. He scanned the image carefully. The figures were moving- some of them were. They looked . . . . unhappy. Arthur frowned. Ah, there was Merlin. He was so small in the picture. He lifted his left hand to touch the stone.

“Arthur!” The Cailleach . . . why was she still talking? The Cup. The Cup and the Spear and the Table. Yes, she wanted him to find them so . .. . so, that he could prove to the magic creatures of Albion that he could be King- a King who could fix magic without being magic? Once again, frustration bullied its way into Arthur’s consciousness.

“I’ll think about it.” Arthur muttered. He wasn’t going to be coerced into a decision he wasn’t ready to make.

The Cailleach’s face was stony but then it softened with resignation. She even managed a small smile as she extended her hand to Arthur, “Take this. It will take you to the Castle Perilous.” She held a small pouch tied closed with leather cord.

Arthur flinched, expecting her touch to hurt somehow. It didn’t hurt but Arthur was having trouble moving. He felt as though he was being pulled. He could not lift his hand from where he touched the stone. The Cailleach seemed to be aware of Arthur’s difficulty and she pushed the bag’s cord between Arthur’s fingers and the sword hilt until she was satisfied he was holding it securely.

As close as she was Arthur realized that the Cailleach was shorter than he was by several inches. He saw that her lips were a little chapped and the part in her hair was crooked. These signals of normalcy, of humanity confused Arthur as much as anything else in the entire encounter- so much so that Arthur realized that he wanted to reach out; to touch the Cailleach’s face and hair. Just to see what it was like.

“You must go.” The Cailleach said looking up into Arthur’s eyes. Arthur did not respond but he heartily agreed. He tried to turn toward the smooth rock where he could see the images of his friends, certain that this would be the way out but the Cailleach stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Lancelot is holding this world and yours together. Such a thing might well kill him.”

Arthur’s brow furrowed. He needed to get out of this place. His survival instinct was trying desperately to speed his heart and fire his nerves. Still, Arthur paused. Why was the Cailleach threatening him now? Did she think that would help her get what she wanted? If so why had she spent so much time trying to reason with him? Then, he realized: The Cailleach wasn’t threatening; she was offering.

“Leave him alone.” Arthur had to struggle not to slur his words. “He’s one of mine.”

“On your own head be it.” The Cailleach murmured and everything changed.  
*  
Elaine stood beside the preternaturally still Lancelot and gently stroked his arm. Lancelot’s other arm was stretched out and a silver light projected from his open hand to a vertical puddle that hung in the air about seven feet high and three feet wide. Lancelot had not responded to any attempt by Elaine or the others to rouse him from his stillness. Now Merlin and the Lady of the Lake exchanged agitated whispers near the light and the knights charged around the clearing looking alternately confused and belligerent. 

Cold was pouring forth from the light and its path could be seen as the water vapor in the air turned to glittering ice crystals. Nynaeve set several fires around the clearing in a quixotic attempt to confine the spreading cold. Elyan had been the first one to notice what she was doing and jumped to help her. Thus he achieved the coveted status of having something- anything to do. 

Elyan was something of a novelty to Elaine. All the other knights here had been present in her dream Camelot but though Elyan had been occasionally discussed and often alluded to he had never actually made an appearance. Of course the rest of the knights and Merlin himself were to varying degrees different than they appeared in her dream Camelot. And if Elaine were not up to her ears in disaster perched on top of calamity she would be very curious about the differences and similarities between these men and those she had known in her Camelot. As it was, Merlin and the knights left her mired in disappointment. 

Elaine had always known that her companions in the dream Camelot were based on Lancelot’s fragmented memories and associations plus a great deal of magical interpolation. This fact comforted her because- honestly- she didn’t particularly like any of them and she couldn’t understand why these men had been important to Lancelot’s idea of what was required in his ideal life. 

Leon and Percival hadn’t been that bad and even Gawain was tolerable in small doses but Kay was so sour and sarcastic and small minded that it was difficult for Elaine to be around him. There was Gaius too. The decrepit old man was always trying to poison her and the court with some disgusting bit of nastiness or other taking pleasure in the discomfort he inflicted ‘for their own good.’ On top of that he was always sneaking around, listening at doors and hiding behind tapestries. Whenever he was caught he would do obscene things with his eyebrows. Elaine was never sure if the contortions were meant to convey disapproval, innuendo or just plain senility. Then there was Merlin. The Merlin of Elaine’s world was more than a bit mad- and even in a world that she herself had caused to be built Elaine was a little afraid of him.

The irony was that, though Lancelot had seemed to need these people, he didn’t spend very much time with them. He spent most of his days and even some of his nights out hunting monsters. Elaine was the one left to govern the mobile scenery. It was harder than she would have guessed possible, spending day in and day out with Lancelot’s closest friends. They were all annoying to varying degrees but it was worse when they were together. They were wasps, constantly buzzing and stinging, undermining and insulting each other. Elaine did not understand it. They were supposed to be friends but Elaine couldn’t see any evidence that they even liked each other. It wearied her to her marrow.

Several times over the months of her marriage Elaine wondered if there might be a way to dispense with some of the knights. Some sort of disaster where they could die heroically would be consistent with the world Lancelot needed and Elaine had idly considered ways to bring such a thing about. Elaine could not admit it but there was a part of her glad to be free of the dream Camelot. 

Despite all her frustration with the knights, Elaine had comforted herself that these weren’t real people. Lancelot’s real friends would not be absurd caricatures. They would be good and noble and clever and pleasant and sane. They would be worthy of Lancelot’s friendship and her own.

Yet Lancelot’s actual ‘friends’ had not lived up to expectations. They had invaded Elaine’s home and destroyed Lancelot’s best chance of contentment. Lancelot had been set firmly back on the road to misery that Elaine- however briefly- had led him from. Despite that, these knights showed no contrition. They had even tried to make her feel that she was the one in the wrong! Why couldn’t everyone just see that what she had done had been best for everyone? Lancelot was angry with her just now but he was confused. He didn’t understand that she was the only who really cared about him. 

When the light had flashed brightly in the clearing all the knights had taken off at a run shouting for Arthur. Elaine had followed more slowly. Nynaeve had reluctantly helped her though Elaine could tell the woman wanted to run too. 

When Elaine finally waddled into the clearing she had immediately guessed what happened. She had thought that Lancelot was free of the veil but some connection must have remained, lying dormant until it was triggered. As Elaine stood protectively beside Lancelot she watched the growing agitation of those around her. They were worried for Arthur. There wasn’t a person here who wouldn’t happily walk over Lancelot’s dead body to help Arthur. The Lady of the Lake- in spite of her newly acquired maternal aspirations- gave her allegiance to the hope of a golden age and a glorious Albion. Sentimentality aside, the Lady would not hesitate to sacrifice a knight for a King. Elaine grimaced and thought bitterly that Lancelot himself had shared the sentiment. Elaine was beginning to hate Arthur.

Roused from her thoughts by the sudden resolution that came over Merlin’s face, Elaine moved closer still to Lancelot. Merlin ignored her and placed his palms against the shimmering air that projected from Lancelot’s hand. They had all done this at some point- more than once. Each member of the group including Elaine had alternately pressed, poked, kicked and jabbed at the puddle of distortion to try and elicit some sort of reaction. In voices tight with worry and helplessness the group had come to a consensus that this puddle of light represented a doorway of some kind. There had been other speculation but a door suited their hopes best and so it was a door. It was a door that- if they could only find the way to open it- would lead to an unharmed Arthur.

Now with his hands pressed against the somehow solid light Merlin’s eyes changed color. Elaine felt a blast of heat so powerful that she was surprised it hadn’t knocked her down. It was over almost as soon as it started but for a second Elaine had been certain that she was burning alive. 

“A little warning, mate.” Sir Gawain had drifted closer to Elaine than she had realized and now the knight was carefully touching his face- perhaps wanting to make sure he still had his eyebrows.

“It didn’t go through.” Merlin cried in frustration. “How can cold be coming out and heat not be able go in?” No one knew so no one answered.

“There has to be a way in.” Merlin went on. His eyes turned to the Lady of the Lake who had lost her ethereal air and now stood helplessly. All she could say was that Arthur had suddenly disappeared from her awareness and Lancelot felt to her much as he had when she first discovered him. If Lancelot still lived then he was buried deep. 

“Everyone should go back a way- back to the edge of the clearing at least.” Merlin ordered, his expression was almost serene in its determination.

“What are you going to do?” Gawain asked warily even as he took a few steps backward. The others did not bother to question. Leon, who had drawn his sword upon arriving on the scene and who had not seen fit to sheath it in the intervening time, crouched just at the perimeter of the clearing readying himself for a mad dash forward. Apparently he expected the wizard to rip the door off its metaphorical hinges.

“I’m not moving.” Elaine declared. She would have liked to circle her arms around Lancelot and entwine her fingers but her belly made that impossible. Instead, Elaine gestured toward the distorted air. It was time to talk sense to these people. “We need to close whatever that is.”

“Arthur’s gone. I’m sorry, but he is.” Elaine was not especially sorry. She hadn’t known Arthur very long and their brief interaction had not endeared him to her. But, she felt that that was the sort of thing one had to say. “If we can get rid of this, this portal, this hole in the world then Lancelot might wake up.” The door clearly depended on Lancelot in some way and Elaine reasoned that if the door disappeared Lancelot would get better. She had thought this from the beginning but she thought it would do her more harm than good if she didn’t let the others come to the idea that Arthur was a lost cause on their own.

Merlin did not answer. Elaine saw Percival and Nynaeve, who had both initially retreated, start to move toward her. Elaine wondered if she was going to let them lead her away from her one true love despairing and docile or if she was going to fight- kick and bite and dare these so-called noble knights to be rough with her and her child. Did it matter if the end result was the same?

The decision never needed to be made. The earth suddenly trembled. The portal’s light grew blinding. Elaine was knocked off her balance and she might have fallen but someone- Gawain- caught her. A shape appeared in the too bright light and then the light was gone. For a moment everything was still but then there was frantic activity as everyone converged on the spot where the light had been. Against all Elaine’s expectations, Arthur had returned.

Elaine took this fact in as she heard the man’s name called repeatedly in tones that oscillated between relief and concern but she had no time to dwell on it. Beside her Lancelot began to sway on his feet. She clutched his arm and Gawain- who was apparently still there- took the other and together they eased him down to the forest floor. Lancelot blinked several times before recognizing his surroundings. His brow furrowed and his gaze skipped anxiously looking for something that might explain the condition in which he found himself.

“Take it easy. Rest a moment.” Gawain said putting a hand firmly on Lancelot’s shoulder and smiling reassuringly.

“It’s all right.” Elaine coaxed. She let go of Lancelot’s arm and reached to take his face in her hands. Lancelot jerked away from her touch. “It’s all right.” Elaine repeated soothingly. Again Lancelot looked around as though he still hoped that if he just looked long enough everything would make sense again.

“I know.” Elaine said taking in Lancelot’s confusion. “I know.” She reached for him again and he raised an arm as though to shield himself but Elaine did not retreat. For a moment Lancelot hung poised between the knowledge that he was very angry with Elaine and the profound cold, loneliness and confusion the Cailleach had left him with.

Gawain saw the moment when Lancelot gave up. His arm dropped and his face seemed to crumple. Then Elaine was holding him, clutching his head against her chest, rocking and murmuring softly.

Several hours later that moment was still vivid in Gawain’s memory. He couldn’t decide if it had been beautiful or horrible. It probably depended on what happened next. Had that moment signaled the beginning of forgiveness and reconciliation or was it another instance where Elaine had taken advantage of Lancelot’s helplessness to insinuate her unwelcome presence. Gawain rather wished he hadn’t seen it. Or having seen it he wished he could stop thinking about it. Surely, enough else had happened to occupy any sleepless hours.

Though it was long past midnight, the knights’ sleep schedule had been disrupted and no one felt ready for bed. But, the darkness was an insurmountable obstacle. There wasn’t anything productive left to do but try and sleep a little. Tomorrow promised to be a busy day and the knights nodded wisely among themselves about the importance of taking advantage of any opportunity for rest. Yet sleep proved elusive as Gawain stared up from his blanket into the night sky. Without anything to occupy himself Gawain found his mind was prey to restless, wandering thoughts. 

From several yards distance Gawain heard Arthur and Merlin whisper together. Gawain had no wish to eavesdrop but he was drawn to the conversation. Even without being able to understand any words. The quiet talk was a welcome distraction.

It was comfortably familiar, the way Arthur and Merlin always talked at night. They talked during the day of course but there was something different about the nighttime conversations. Gawain had no idea what they talked about but the way they drew so close together, it seemed so personal and private as though they shared more than words. 

It was charming. But, it was also an opportunity to poke fun. Gawain had joked that Merlin and Arthur were like young lovers unable to get enough of each other. Gawain had expected to be able to go on indefinitely taunting Arthur about how sweet he and Merlin were. It was exactly the sort of thing that would irritate Arthur. Gawain had all but rubbed his hands with glee awaiting the response. Strangely though, Arthur had not risen to the bait and it was Merlin who had given Gawain a reproachful look and told him rather stiffly that things weren’t like that. Gawain knew things weren’t like that. That was what made it funny. But as Merlin seemed bothered, Arthur seemed indifferent and none of the other knights found the joke especially hilarious Gawain did not pursue the subject. He remained slightly confused though. 

As Gawain continued to think on it more, he realized that his analogy hadn’t been quite right. Arthur and Merlin’s late night conversations were less like those of lovers and more like those of parents who had to wait for the children to go to sleep before they could discuss important matters. Gawain did not mention this observation though because it wasn’t funny.

Now, the whispers were a welcome reassurance of normalcy. When Arthur had reemerged into the real world Gawain had felt his heart clench with some unnamable emotion and- like the others- he found himself automatically moving forward. He hadn’t made it far before he realized that he was still encumbered with Elaine. Soon after that Lancelot was conscious again so Gawain remained where he was to help tend him but his eyes constantly darted back to Arthur.

Gawain needn’t have worried- not that worrying was what he had been doing. Arthur, though he did look thoroughly frozen, was unnerved but unharmed. He quickly disappeared into the solicitous embrace of Merlin and the other knights. Gawain almost called out to tell them to stand back, give the man some air, let him breathe a little. But that impulse probably just went to show how little Gawain knew about how to take care of someone. 

Arthur was instantly assailed by questions but it was several minutes more before he could begin to speak coherently about what happened. Even after Arthur began to talk it still took minutes more before he let go of Excalibur. When he did finally allow his fingers to loosen around the hilt a small pouch slipped from his hand. Elyan retrieved it as Merlin pressed a cup of warmed water into Arthur’s cold hands. 

No one gave any thought to the item Elyan picked up until later when Arthur, lips still tinged blue despite the fact that Merlin and the Lady of the Lake had magically heated several large rocks in the clearing until they glowed like coals, recalled that the Cailleach had tried to give him something at the end. Elyan who had forgotten about the object he had picked up, suddenly shivered and handed the small bag he had absently retrieved to Merlin with exaggerated care. Opening the bag with similar care Merlin withdrew a single coin. On one side of the coin there was stamped a castle, a crown was stamped on the other side.

The Cailleach had told Arthur that it would help him find the Cup of Life but Arthur wasn’t convinced that it wasn’t intended as some sort of joke. After Merlin and the Lady of the Lake had studied the coin for a few minutes they discovered that it actually contained a powerful teleportation spell. Gawain grimaced. He had had enough of teleportation for the time being and he doubted that he was likely to appreciate the Cailleach’s sense of humor.

As the discussion of Arthur’s encounter with the Cailleach proceeded however it became apparent to Gawain that he had at least one more transportation spell waiting in his immediate future. There was to be another quest for the Cup of Life. No one trusted the Cailleach but in the end it was too dangerous to risk letting the Cup fall to Morgana or anyone similarly minded. Worries over portals aside, Gawain was glad for a new quest. He was as eager as anyone to go kill Saxons but he had to confess that training for it was taking a toll on his nerves. The allied knights were so far behind that it seemed like all they did now was basic drill, over and over again. Every day.

It was a small but welcome piece of good news that Gawain could brag, with Elyan, that if the table in the old castle did turn out to be special it had already been secured. But, Merlin chimed in, diminishing their thunder. He already knew about Gwen’s surprise and he had a chance to take a look at the Table since it had been delivered to Camelot. That said, Merlin couldn’t say whether the Table was a powerful magical talisman or not. Apparently these things weren’t always obvious. Even if it was premature Gawain could not help but think that the score was now two to two and would be three to one very soon.

It was only the final treasure on the Cailleach’s list that remained lost then. Gawain was just thinking that it was going to be a bugger to go looking for the Spear if they didn’t get more to go on than the wasteland when Elaine had interjected.

“The Fisher King is my great great grandfather.” Elaine spoke into the sudden silence as all eyes turned to her.

Elaine had not been invited to participate in this discussion. She was not exactly welcome but no one had taken the initiative to make her go sit by herself while everyone else talked around the fire. Even Nynaeve and the Lady of the Lake had gathered with them. Initially that had also given Gawain pause. He had thought Freya was Merlin’s friend- maybe even his special friend- but she hadn’t told them about Lancelot- a conspicuous and deliberate omission. So if she was not a friend was she an ally- maybe a kissing ally? Gawain had taken a moment to consider that from various angles and a slow smile had crept over his face. 

“So does that mean you have dear old granddad’s spear in an attic somewhere and you’d be just tickled to let us have it?” Gawain demanded before anyone else was able to formulate a response to Elaine’s assertion. Lancelot’s kid was going to have one hell of a lineage if Elaine were telling the truth.

“No.” Elaine’s cheeks had colored but she met Gawain’s eye. “But, I do know that the Fisher King always keeps the Spear with him. You can go ask him if he would be tickled to let you have it.”

“The Fisher King is dead.” Merlin said carefully.

Elaine’s expression did not change. “He keeps the Spear with him and his injury prevents him from leaving his castle. So that is where the Spear should be.” 

Silence stretched awkwardly.

“I am trying to help.” Elaine said with exaggerated patience.

“Try harder.” Gawain sniped but he broke off even as he spoke because Arthur was saying: “Thank you for your help, Lady Elaine. Any information is useful.”

Elaine watched Arthur trying to determine if he was making fun of her. After a few seconds she nodded fractionally and leaned back a little to indicate that she had said all she had to say.

The upshot of a half hour more discussion was that tomorrow morning they would ride a few miles from the lake so that they were clear of the Lady’s magic then Merlin would activate the transportation spell in the coin. Then they would go look for the Cup of Life in the Castle Perilous. 

Leon had wanted to return to Camelot first so that they could prepare for a proper expedition (and perhaps also have time to rethink the venture altogether) but it was clear he would not get his way. Arthur did agree to consider returning before finding the Cup was found if it seemed as though it would take more than a few days but that was the only concession offered.

Next, Lancelot asked if he could join the quest. He spoke with an earnest desperation that was painful to witness in a grown man. Lancelot felt terrible about having been used to create the bridge between worlds. Efforts had been made to jolly him out of it but he was too deeply mired in misery. The quest for the Cup of Life had appeared as an unexpected chance to contribute and Lancelot was frantic not to miss out on it. Arthur was gracious about accepting him and it occurred to Gawain to wonder why Arthur was never nice to him in the same way.

Elaine had sense enough to raise no objections. She said only that she was willing to remain at the lake until Lancelot returned from the quest and then they could talk again. Elaine had made an awkward bed for herself and Gawain did not envy her lying in it. Still, if she were careful and did not overplay her hand, Gawain thought she might come out of this with some part of what she wanted.

Once that had been decided, nothing more could be done until morning. The darkness felt like a prison, holding them for long useless hours before they could set forth. Gawain was not sure why he was so eager to set off except that he wasn’t tired and there was nothing else to do. With no other choice, he lay down on his bedroll and tried to let his mind be idle. 

But, Gawain’s mind would not let him be. He had quested for the Cup before. That adventure had led to Morgana claiming the Cup, enslaving an army and taking over Camelot. Gawain looked forward to things going better this time around. He was sure they would go better this time around. Back then, Gawain hadn’t had any idea what was going on or what was at stake- not that he really understood now either but Gawain’s life had been so different then. He chuckled softly to himself remembering his own antics. It was a wonder he had survived.

After his initial flare of amusement though Gawain’s mood grew pensive. His life had changed, hadn’t it? When had that happened? When he’d left home he had been so determined that his life would be his own. He would have freedom and independence and most of all fun. He would not rely on anyone nor would he allow anyone to rely on him. He would live his life for a laugh and a song; a drink and a tumble. And if the opportunity for a good fight came his way or a chance to get a little payback from the sort of people who had taken his father from him then left his mother abandoned then so much the better. 

So, when had he decided that he was now this other man- a knight of Camelot, a respected and integral part of a group that had responsibilities and codes? When had he decided he was no longer the carefree rascal who never had to deal with the consequences of his actions because he never stayed in one place long enough for consequences to catch up to him? 

Well, Gawain knew- in a general sort of way- the answer to these questions but he still felt a bit cheated. There ought to have been a moment- a single instant in time where Gawain had to make a definite and life-altering decision. It should have been a moment of high drama and higher stakes. Something greater than Gawain’s own future should have hung in the balance. 

He hadn’t gotten his moment though. Instead he had fallen into his new life through a series of small choices- none of them particularly important in itself. Gawain was content with his life as it was now but that wasn’t the issue. The issue was that he didn’t feel like he had formally and officially consented to abandon the old Gawain and become the new Gawain. This was a difficult feeling to explain. Gawain knew that if someone else had come up to him and complained of a sense of a general lack of agency and autonomy he would have responded either by offering the man a drink or punching him in the nose.

And perhaps a punch in the nose or- always preferable, a drink- would serve Gawain aptly. If he wanted a moment of dramatic choice all he had to do was get up and walk away. He could just leave and never look back. He could. He was a free man and he could do as he liked. No one could stop him doing whatever he wanted to do. Gawain was old enough now, though, to prefer not to ruin his life to prove a point. He was not going to walk away.

Unsatisfied with where his rhetorical questions had left him, Gawain decided to start again. How had he gotten from there to here? The beginning was easy to pinpoint. It had begun in a tavern with Arthur and Merlin. From the start, Merlin delighted Gawain. From their first meeting, there was just something appealing about the man. Merlin was fun and cheerful and undemanding in a way that made Gawain feel strangely safe- as though Merlin would never ask anything of him that would be difficult to give. Gawain also liked how Merlin seemed entirely open and friendly and yet intensely private at the same time. In the pursuit of alcohol and sex Gawain had had to listen to enough life stories that it was utterly refreshing how Merlin never tried to tell him anything important about himself. 

Even though they had met because Gawain had- spontaneously and without really thinking about it- saved Arthur’s life Merlin had been the one to draw him in. Then, having been drawn in he had gone on to save Arthur’s life again- not long after the first time. Gawain didn’t exactly have a good explanation for that. He had nothing against Arthur but Gawain had never been one for self-sacrifice. He had told himself later that he had done it to impress Merlin or to show up Uther or because he was bored or because Gawain was an unpredictable rogue who didn’t need reasons to explain his actions.

That might have been all there was to it. Just another adventure among the many adventures of our dashing young hero. But, Merlin had sought him out and offered him a new adventure. Gawain hadn’t needed to think about it. He liked Merlin very much and Arthur- well, he’d already gone to the trouble of saving Arthur’s life and he would hate to see that effort wasted so soon. 

And, truthfully, Gawain had been bored. He hadn’t even known how bored he’d been until he had something to look forward to. Gawain didn’t get bored around Merlin. Even when nothing was actually happening, Gawain found he was contented. He felt a sense of progress, a feeling of forward movement even while being still. It was surprisingly nice. Later when Arthur and Merlin had returned to Camelot, Gawain found himself waiting impatiently for the next adventure.

The next adventure had come with a knighthood. Gawain hadn’t asked for it. He probably didn’t even really want it but it was part of the adventure and while Gawain was pleased to be charmingly rebellious he was not completely churlish. He could hardly object that a knighthood meant nothing to him. 

That moment, when Arthur’s sword- it hadn’t been Excalibur then, had it?- touched his shoulder, was that meant to have been his time to choose? Surely not. Gawain was mostly being polite or ironic. The accolade had not been a transformative experience. It must have happened after . . . or maybe before? Gawain fidgeted on his bedroll. How had he gone from a wandering rogue, laughing and drinking his way across the kingdoms to a noble knight and King’s man- who, funnily enough, still did his share of laughing and drinking?

Gawain did not object to being where he was. The thought of going somewhere else doing something else left him feeling cold and empty. Still Gawain did not like this feeling of having been slowly pulled into something he had not actively, consciously chosen. Was this what destiny meant? Gawain didn’t really believed in destiny or at the least he didn’t believe in his own destiny. And yet, was this what it felt like to be pushed down a path he would have been willing enough to follow if only he had been properly asked? Gawain was happy as he was now but he hadn’t sought this life. He had not dedicated himself to it. He had not striven for it. It worried him because if Gawain had just fallen into this life it stood to reason that he could just as easily fall out again and then what would become of him.  
*  
The remaining tendrils of the Cailleach’s frigid magic plucked at Merlin, making him twitch. Merlin wanted to shake himself like a wet dog until the last vestiges of winter loosed their hold. He was angry at the Cailleach’s incursion. Whatever her motivation, the Cailleach had used magic to steal Arthur and Merlin had not prevented it. Neither had he found a way to bring Arthur back. Merlin felt angry, scared and incompetent. 

He tried to push those feeling away as unimportant. Arthur was safe now and the Cailleach was gone. It was even possible that the Cailleach was sincerely trying to help them. If her information did indeed lead to the Cup of Life and if there was great but as yet undetected magic within the Round Table then she truly had helped them. But, Merlin didn’t trust her. 

Merlin sighed and turned over. The ground was soft and springy and Merlin smiled knowing that this little bit of comfort was from Freya. The Lady of the Lake had not been able to give the lie to anything the Cailleach said but neither could she confirm everything. She could not even say for certain if the Cailleach’s most troubling assertion, that there was something not quite right with magic, was true. Freya was not only Freya but also the Lady of the Lake, being both meant that she could have some incongruous moments. Memories were odd for her. She could not always use her power exactly as she anticipated but that could simply be the result of merging a human with a great power of magic.

These thoughts led Merlin’s mind to Morgana. Morgana’s power had come to her in confusing and painful bursts. She had suffered. Merlin’s magic had not come to him in the same way. He had been born with it and even though he didn’t always know best how to use his power it wasn’t destructive or chaotic like Morgana’s had been. Merlin had assumed that the reasons for this had to do with Morgana’s peculiar gifts as a Seer or perhaps- horribly but plausibly- it was a side effect of the potions used to suppress her talent. What if it hadn’t been that though? What if Morgana’s violent and painful awakening had been a symptom that magic- the greatest source of magic- was broken? Merlin shook his head. He didn’t want to think about Morgana right now. 

If Merlin relaxed his mental barriers then he became aware that Freya was also feeling angry, scared and frustrated. The Cailleach had been able to reach within her domain and she had been powerless to prevent it. Merlin sent a small controlled pulse of sympathy and comfort. She returned the sentiment with similar restraint. Then Merlin reestablished his regular mental defenses. It was difficult for him- mind sharing. Even when he wanted to offer comfort or reassurance and receive it, Merlin found he did not truly wish to invite others in so deep. 

Even Kilgharrah, who was his kin, made him anxious when he put his words into Merlin’s head. Merlin much preferred spoken communication and because Kilgharrah was kin the dragon respected that when he could. The Druids’ constant resort to mind-speech was harder to bear. Merlin supposed he could understand the advantages of silent communication but it was too private a thing. There was a space within Merlin that was for him alone. He valued his privacy more than most. It sometimes occurred to Merlin- in the dreamy lassitude of an afternoon or the restless discontent of a sleepless night- that someday he might want to open that space for Arthur. But this was idle speculation because there was no way that Arthur could reach out to him like that or that Arthur would want to if he could. Sighing Merlin told himself that that was probably for the best.

Beside him, Merlin knew Arthur was also thinking over the situation. Issues had come up in the King’s encounter with the Cailleach that Arthur was still working through. His thoughts had been muddled in the immediate aftermath of his return and he had allowed a few sentences to trail off as he tried to recapture his chain of thought. As time went on Arthur seemed to recover but Merlin knew Arthur and he knew the King was not done trying to make sense of what had happened. Merlin presumed that when Arthur was ready he would talk but Merlin felt an itchiness to get a few things settles as soon as possible.

“You know, we could split up. You, Leon, Elyan and Percival could go back to Camelot while Gawain, Lancelot and I look for the Cup.” Merlin had had this idea almost as soon as he learned that the Cup of Life had been found. He had not suggested it before now though because Merlin found it much easier to make that sort of suggestion one on one.

“No. I think I need to go.” Arthur answered pulling the blankets more tightly around himself. He wasn’t actually cold. Physically he had recovered from exposure to the Cailleach’s domain but the spirit of winter was harder to banish from his mind. Despite a roaring fire, extra blankets and three Pendragon cloaks Arthur still felt as though he were cold. Merlin was reluctant to heat more stones though because he was afraid that while Arthur wasn’t able to accurately gauge temperature he might burn himself without realizing. 

“The Cailleach made it sound like . . . like finding the Cup and the other treasures was necessary if I expect to be taken seriously by the great magical powers.”

“You don’t have anything to prove, Arthur.” 

“That’s what I told the Cailleach but I’m pretty sure that was bluster.” The more he thought about it the more it made sense. Arthur had known from early on that it was going to be a struggle to gain the respect of magical creatures. Even putting aside his father’s legacy, why would any creature of magic listen to him? 

They would listen to Merlin of course. Merlin’s power came from within him. If anyone doubted Merlin’s credentials then all Merlin needed to do was snap his fingers and bring a ton of rocks down onto the skeptic’s head- Quod Erat Demonstrandum. No one would question Merlin after that. And maybe that was enough. Maybe it was all right for magic creatures to scoff at Arthur as long as they respected Merlin’s power.

But Arthur knew that wouldn’t work? Vanity aside- and that was no little aside- Arthur could not rule effectively if those with strong magic didn’t feel as though they had to acknowledge his authority. No, he needed to prove himself. He needed to do something that great powers of magic would take seriously. Collecting magical tokens might be as good a test as any. But then again, a man didn’t need to be anything special to hold a sword someone else put in his hand. There didn’t seem to be a ready solution.

“Arthur, you are already showing good faith to people with magic. You’ve lifted the ban. You’re negotiating with the Druids and Magic Market Day. What about Magic Market Day?” Merlin spoke as though his point had been proven so definitively that Arthur would have no choice but to agree completely.

“Magic is not banned in many kingdoms and magical items are traded almost everywhere. Besides, I’m not just thinking about Camelot’s sorcerers. I’m thinking about . . . .” Arthur struggled for the word and settled for, “magic”. 

Arthur curled in on himself as he spoke. He wasn’t sure he remembered all that the Cailleach had told him. His memory was foggy and that scared him. He hoped it was merely a result of the frigid cold and the trauma of being shoved into a different world. Arthur couldn’t help but be scared whenever he found that something magic had happened but he couldn’t quite remember everything.

“Magic?” Merlin turned on his side and propped himself on his elbow. 

Arthur would have shrugged except he was drawn in too tightly on himself. “Sidhe, high priestesses, Ladies of Lakes, nature spirits, elves, dragons, whatever sort of creatures the Cailleach or Taliesin is. I can’t see that such beings would care at all about magic market day.”

“Arthur . . .” Merlin had had no idea Arthur was worrying over Sidhe and dragons. “Those things aren’t your problem. I mean, I’m really glad you’ve had a chance to meet Freya and maybe- if you wanted- we could come back when we have time for a proper visit but if elves or sidhe or anything like that become a problem I can deal with them.”

“It’s not about defending against attack, although that’s obviously important. It’s about trying to figure out what magic- magic creatures- want. We need to establish diplomatic relations- make alliances. We need to figure out what we can do for them and what they can do for us.” Arthur’s voice vibrated with the anxiety these tasks inspired in him.

“How long have you been thinking about this?” Merlin had just assumed the whole plan was for slow incremental changes; a magic market fair, a couple of Druids at court; open discussions between sorcerers and non-sorcerers. In time, Merlin hoped that there would be a school for magic, perhaps a guild, perhaps an order of magically gifted knights. That was the plan and yet Arthur had apparently also been trying to work out how he might fit dragons and sidhe into the picture. 

“For a while- but not really. It has been in the back of my mind but it is so overwhelming and I thought I had more time.” Arthur said from his blankets. “When Nynaeve came and said that the Lady of the Lake needed help, and not just help but my help, I thought- I thought this was how it would start. It was an opportunity I didn’t think I would ever have- a creature of magic needed my help, mine. I thought that maybe there was finally something I could do.”

“Of course I did know better.” Arthur let his breath out as though he were letting go of false hope. “I knew it was a mistake or- as it turned out- I was needed but only as a sort of ingredient to a counterspell. Still, the quest was a success. We got Lancelot back. But then the Cailleach appeared and started talking about all these magic treasures and I honestly don’t think I can do it. I know I have to try but I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t have magic- I don’t want magic- but how can I be what you and the Lady and the Cailleach and the dragon expect me to be without it?” 

“Arthur . . .” Trapped in his own blanket Merlin had to wriggle awkwardly to get close enough to put a hand on Arthur’s hunched shoulder. 

At the contact, Arthur made an involuntary hiss, “God, you’re warm.”

“Am I?” Merlin’s brow knitted, his mind pulled in two directions. 

“Maybe you could . . . heat the rocks again?” Arthur hated to ask. It shouldn’t have been any different than telling Merlin to do any of a hundred other tasks he ordered Merlin to do without a qualm yet the fact that Arthur now felt afflicted with genuine need made it different. 

“I don’t think they’re helping you. You aren’t really cold.”

“Maybe not but I feel cold.” Arthur poured the frustration of his own hopeless inadequacy to meet the coming magical challenges into annoyance about his subjective sense of temperature. 

“But, I feel warm?” Merlin asked running a hand up and down Arthur’s arm.

“Yes.” Arthur admitted. He felt sullen. He would have liked to pull away but the cold- imaginary though it might be- broke down some of his physical resistance. Just the heat of Merlin’s hand on his arm was like shelter in a storm.

“The Cailleach’s magic is fading. It should be getting better.” Merlin had one hand on Arthur’s arm and he reached out the other to press against Arthur’s chest. 

“It was for a while, when we were together around the fire. But, now .. . . You’re right the rocks don’t help. Don’t worry about it. I’m sure it will get better soon.”

Merlin remembered the terrible cold of the dorocha’s touch- the way it had torn the warmth away from him. Without his magic it would have killed him. Making a sudden decision Merlin rolled to his other side and twisted the little distance until he had his back pressed to Arthur’s chest. Merlin figured that Arthur would either shove him off immediately or he would stay very still accepting what was offered but making no demands. What Merlin had not expected- what in fact surprised him quite a bit- was that Arthur pressed forward into him; his arms wrapped around Merlin’s middle and Merlin felt Arthur’s forehead against the back of his shoulder.

Still mentally reeling, Merlin chided himself for not being more observant. He should have known the soul chill was not to be banished by a few extra blankets. Then, Merlin didn’t think at all for a while. 

Merlin would have been content to continue not thinking for the indefinite future. But, the idea fought its way into his head that if he didn’t do something there was a chance Arthur might begin to feel awkward; worse there was a chance that Merlin himself might begin to feel awkward. Suddenly, the possibility of that offended him. It offended him to his core because there was nothing awkward in this. There was nothing strange or weird or inappropriate or embarrassing about sharing a bit of warmth. It happened all the time when Arthur, Merlin and the knights traveled during the winter months and the world was covered in ice and snow. Then they all slept bundled together like a basket of heavily armed puppies. That was normal. That was survival. That was safety. Everyone understood. 

This was not so different. The cold was less a physical thing but so what? And why did cold or magic even matter. Couldn’t people just- just be close to one another sometimes- just because they felt like it? Why should a little touch, a little closeness, a little exchange of comfort and safety be looked at askance or even remarked upon at all? Why did such things require definition or explanation? Why couldn’t they just be?

“You know you don’t have to worry about dragons or sidhe or goblins or anything else like that.” Merlin said as though there had been no break in their earlier conversation. Merlin would make this normal, by sheer force of will if necessary.

“The hell I don’t.” Arthur answered a beat late but his tone was the same as it always was during an important discussion. “They’re all part of it. I can’t pick and choose what magic I want to deal with and which magic I want to ignore.”

“What about me then? What do you think I’m for? Don’t you trust me to take care of powerful magic? How can you be worried about dragons? Of all creatures, dragons? Don’t you know . . . don’t you know . . . I will protect Camelot. I will protect you. Do not try to deny me my part to play.” Merlin held fiercely to Arthur’s arm.

“I know you are a powerful sorcerer, Merlin. I know you protect Camelot in ways no one else could. When you choose to reveal yourself no one can doubt what you are.” Arthur held Merlin a little tighter for a moment suddenly needing to speak words he had never been able to force past his lips before. “I know, too, that it has not been easy for you, that I have- I know I have been unkind- cruel- to you.”

“No!” Merlin denied but continued in the same breath. “It doesn’t matter. That’s over now. You’ve always been a prat but I love you anyway.”

“Don’t.” Arthur commanded and Merlin felt his fluttery panic subside into resignation. “I have never treated anyone as I treated you, not in the same way, not to the same degree. I don’t even know why but I think I wanted to hurt you. I’m sorry.”

“I did everything I could to make you think I was a fool then I resented you for believing what I showed you.” Merlin said miserably. He didn’t want to talk about this. Arthur had hurt him. Arthur’s disdain, Arthur’s obliviousness, Arthur’s insensitivity and stubbornness and unwillingness or inability to break through to Merlin’s core had all hurt. Merlin did not want the extent of that hurt revealed. He had told himself at the time that what he endured was a just punishment for lying. He told himself that his hurts were sacrifices he willingly endured for the greater good. But, sometimes he had encouraged Arthur in his unkindness. He had done so because even the most callous insult, even the most painful snub was so much easier to bear than the least kindness or gentleness. Merlin knew his wounds were at least partially self-inflicted but sometimes the hurt had been more than he could endure. Sometimes Merlin had retaliated. 

Merlin felt Arthur nod. “I know you can do incredible things and no one could deny you your part but I cannot allow you to stand between me and the magic of Albion.”

“Yes, Sire. I know.” Merlin whispered. He did know but it was so hard to see past the immediate danger of a situation. “You are my King, Arthur. I do understand what that means and I respect it. I do- but, truly, you don’t have to take on any more of this than you want- not for me. I swear, the magic of Albion will keep. What you are doing, what you have done, that’s enough. If what remains of the Old Religion or powers like the Cailleach or creatures of whatever kind want more than what you’re willing to give then that’s just tough for them.”

Arthur let out a slow breath. He let his muscles; drawn tight against the cold, relax a little. Merlin had never asked Arthur for anything regarding magic. He had not demanded special concessions. He had not pushed a pro-magic agenda. He had helped Arthur as he always did and he earnestly gave his best advice but he had never pressured Arthur to go further than where Arthur was willing to go with magic or with anything else. Arthur was more grateful for that than he could say. 

Still, even as he was able to find some respite in Merlin’s words the King still felt driven. He felt driven to bring things to where they might be if he had not made some of the choices he had. The Cailleach had said that everything else he did would be hollow if he did not address magic and Arthur knew there was truth to that. Magic was a greater threat and a greater opportunity than the Saxons were. So, Arthur was going to find a way to deal with magic. Even if it killed him, even if it did worse than that, he would deal with it. 

“Do you know, I had some thought that you might run off?” Arthur admitted. Soothed by his renewed determination Arthur’s voice was soft. “I thought I might go to sleep tonight and wake up to discover you and Lancelot and maybe Gawain had taken the coin. Then you would all show up again around lunch with the Cup- all smiles and with some silly story about how you had just gone for an early morning walk and found the damn thing lying by the side of the road.”

“I don’t do that sort of thing anymore, my Lord.” Merlin flushed hot and was glad he was facing away from Arthur. Such a thing had crossed his mind. The temptation to take all the risk on himself and thus spare Arthur was almost irresistible. So too was the impulse to win some great trophy and lay it at Arthur’s feet. Of all the things he had done for Arthur he had rarely had the chance to openly and honestly present his gifts. He wanted that sense of pride and accomplishment. He wanted that recognition but he knew the greatest homage he could give Arthur now was trust. 

“I will try not to make you feel as though you need to.” Arthur said acknowledging that Merlin had often felt as though he had not had any alternatives. 

It was only a few hours until morning. Arthur was warm now. The rational part of his brain advised that that meant it was now time to move away from Merlin and get what little sleep he could. Without the excuse of necessity Arthur had no idea how to justify this embrace. Surely it was taking advantage. It wasn’t precisely clear how it was taking advantage but Arthur was pretty sure he knew taking advantage when he saw it. He really ought to let Merlin be. Yet, he found he could not pull away. He quite liked the sprawl of Merlin’s long angular body. Arthur’s arm draped over Merlin’s slender torso meant the boy was going to stay put and that fact leant Merlin’s assurance that he was not planning to sneak off a lovely solidity. If Merlin minded he would have wriggled away by now. This was only strange if Arthur made it strange—but, but it was strange, wasn’t it? Arthur could not help but observe himself from the outside and that outsider had raised a quizzical eyebrow. Sighing Arthur settled himself on the unusually soft and springy earth. As Merlin turned in response to Arthur’s small movement the sorcerer curled his own arm over Arthur’s chest. Arthur decided that maybe if he closed his eyes the observer would go away for a little while- just for a little while.   
*


	6. Chapter 6

The moorland stretched into the distance. Their horses’ hooves sank into the peat and the knights made their way carefully across the heath.

“I still don’t see a castle.” Gawain volunteered. 

After Merlin had activated the transportation spell, all the knights’ senses were on high alert as they took in their new surroundings. While it was evident that they were now somewhere different no one cared to hazard a guess as to where they might be. One swampy tract of land was much like any other and as the moments passed and nothing of note seemed to happen the men began to relax.

“We’ll give it another hour and then use the coin to go back if we haven’t found anything.” Arthur replied scanning the horizon for magical castles- or failing that, any sort of human habitation.

“Do you think the coin will take us closer to the lake than it has taken us to the Castle?” Elyan asked Merlin. “Do you think the coin takes us to a specific place or to a specific distance from our destination?”

“Wouldn’t that amount to the same thing?” Percival queried.

“Not necessarily. The spell could have put us anywhere along the circumference of a circle.” Elyan explained. “But then maybe the spell didn’t work properly and we’re just lost.”

“Maybe the spell did work properly and the Cailleach intended to send us into the middle of nowhere.” Gawain said cynically. “We have no reason to trust her.”

“If she was trying to trick us why not send us into the middle of the sea or a hundred feet in the air?” Elyan said still willing to give the Cailleach the benefit of the doubt.

“Could she have done that?” Gawain demanded of Merlin with sudden unease.

Shrugging his shoulders to indicate that he didn’t see why that wouldn’t be possible, Merlin tried to search the landscape with his magic as well as with his eyes.

“This could be a distraction if she wants us away from Camelot for some reason.” Leon suggested.

“And what reason would that be?” Percival asked.

“What reason any of it?” Leon answered with a shrug.

The knights drifted into silence for a few moments and then Elyan suggested, “Maybe the castle is right here and we just can’t see it.”

“No one said we were meant to be looking for an invisible castle.” Gawain complained. 

“What do you think, Merlin?” Gawain asked. It wasn’t that Gawain was afraid. He was up for a fight, magical or otherwise, he just liked to know what he was working with.

“I think the Castle is close. It’s hidden- not invisible, but hidden.” Merlin shook his head. “I’m not exactly sure how to find it.”

“As I said, we’ll give it a bit longer then go back.” Arthur repeated and received an approving nod from Leon. The First Knight had not been overwhelmed with happiness at the prospect of another portal and another magical adventure but Leon feared a second undead army. It also troubled him that though the Cup of Life had brought him from near death it was possible that his healing had come at the expense of someone else’s life. The Druids denied this but Leon could not entirely banish the fear. The Cup of Life must not be left to be claimed by any scavenging sorcerer who came across it.

“What happens if we do find the castle, though?” Elyan addressed the group at large but his gaze drifted inevitably toward Merlin. “Do we just ask to be given the power to raise the dead? Or will there be, like, a tournament?”

“If there’s a three-legged race I claim Merlin. We’re of a height and if he falls it will be easy enough to carry him.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” Arthur replied to Elyan and ignored Gawain. It was entirely reasonable that whoever was at the Castle Perilous might not want to be parted from the Cup- that was assuming there was anyone at the Castle at all.

“We’ve seen the Cup in action,” Percival steered his horse away from a particular sodden stretch of ground. “What kind of magic do you think there is in a Spear of Truth?”

“Maybe someone has to tell the truth whenever the spear is pointed at them?” Elyan enjoyed speculating about how magic might work. He was almost always wrong- so wrong that Merlin had to go back several steps and correct a number of false assumptions before he could begin to explain. The young knight never seemed to be discouraged though.

“I think that works with any spear- or really any weapon at all.” Gawain said laughing.

“No, but I mean really. Maybe it detects lies. That would be useful wouldn’t it? A lot of things would be much easier.” Elyan persisted.

“It’d be tough on Gawain’s love life.” Percival smirked. “If he wasn’t allowed to lie.”

“Hey,” Gawain was indignant. “I don’t need to lie to impress girls. Besides, it’s not lying if no one thinks you’re telling the truth.”

“Maybe the Spear could make someone invisible or something?” Elyan was not to be diverted.

“What do you think a spear of truth might be able to do, Lancelot?” Merlin asked because the knight had been very quiet and the wizard wanted to keep his friend from spending too much time in his own head.

“I don’t know. But, it seems to me that the spear might be related to truth like the cup is related to life, that is, maybe it creates a deceptive truth or maybe, or, I don’t know, I heard a story once about a woman who had been cursed to always tell the truth but never be believed. Maybe the spear did that to her?”

“I know that story.” Leon interjected. “The woman spurned the attention of a god. She had the gift of true prophecy but he cursed her so that no one would ever believe her. She kept warning people but no one would listen. What was her name? Oh, my old tutor would take a stick to me. Clytemnestra, no, that was someone else . . .”

Arthur smiled to himself but just as he was opening his mouth someone was there before him.

“Cassandra.” Gawain supplied. “Apollo wasn’t happy about being told no.”

“Are you sure it was Apollo?” Leon asked. “I seem to remember he was a god of music, poetry and healing.”

“Doesn’t matter what he was god of.” Gawain said. “They all get mean if anyone tries to have an independent thought.”

“Anyway, I doubt what happened to Cassandra had anything to do with the Spear of Truth, Lancelot.” Leon concluded.

“Maybe not,” Lancelot conceded. “But I think there is always going to be a trick, a trap for the unwary.” Recently, Lancelot’s mind had been opened- rather cruelly- to certain contradictions in what he had always taken to be fairly straightforward concepts. “I mean think about what is called the Cup of Life. The Cup is supposed to be about love and life and summer and abundance and all those sorts of ideas the Cailleach and the Lady talked about. Yet, it is at least as much about hate and death, isn’t it. Even if Morgana hadn’t proved that, then the way the Cup was used in the Old Religion: to grant a life at the cost of a life implies that even without Morgana’s corruption it’s a tricky matter.” 

Arthur nodded but his mind had moved on from the Cup of Life and the hypothetical powers of Rhongomynyad. “I think there might be something to the idea that these magic items encompass their opposite.” Unconsciously, Arthur rested his hand on his sword’s hilt. “The Cailleach said Excalibur was supposed to represent peace. I’d like to believe that. I do believe it. Yet, while it may be true that fighting or at least the willingness and the ability to fight can be crucial to making and maintaining peace it’s a bit fatuous to pretend that a sword of peace isn’t just as much a sword of war.” 

“What about this fourth treasure, then? If it is the Table and the Table stands for justice, where does the contradiction come in?” Percival asked.

“You are all thinking way too hard about this stuff.” Gawain said whistling softly. “It’s not about logic or philosophy. It’s not rational, is it.” Gesturing in Merlin’s direction to solicit confirmation, Gawain went on, “It’s all just magic, right? You’ve got four really powerful objects but they aren’t things that people can hope to comprehend and so you have to make a story about them. You have to say ‘they’re power is like the seasons or the elements or virtues or the Cardinal directions’. You have to have swords and spears to go with cups and circular tables.” Gwain made a circle with the fingers of one hand and drove the index finger of his other hand through it repeatedly. “Because that’s what people can make sense of, that what’s familiar. Nobody- except for people like Merlin- can understand about the very powerful magical objects. So, you have to talk about the kinds of power people do understand. But, that’s not the same as understanding.”

“Wait, I’m confused.” Leon said trying not to smirk. “What about a sword and a cup again? Maybe if you could draw me a picture?”

Gawain laughed. “How did I get stuck with such a band of monks?”

“I’m not a monk.” Elyan said mildly offended. “I got it.”

“Of course you did.” Lancelot said kindly as Leon and Gawain stifled guffaws.

“There’s nothing wrong with monks.” Percival added.

“You and I are very different people.” Gawain told Percival still chuckling.

“Nothing wrong with that either.” Percival grinned back.

“If you have all finished maybe you’d care to take a look at this.” Arthur called from the head of the group. Merlin had already ridden up beside him and the two men stared out over the land to a large manor house surrounded by a prosperous village.

“Is that the castle? It doesn’t look especially perilous.”

“No.” Merlin said squinting. “It’s not the castle.” While he didn’t know precisely what he was looking for Merlin felt certain he would know it when he saw it. This wasn’t it.

“Well, it’s a chance to figure out where we are and ask for directions.” Arthur said pleased. Finding human habitation felt like progress to him.

“Perhaps just a few of us could walk down to gather information.” Merlin suggested. The wizard would not put it past Arthur to walk up to the front gate and ask if anyone had any powerful magical talismans they’d be happy to part with. “We don’t know where we are. We don’t want to cause a commotion.”

It was unlikely that the whereabouts of the Castle Perilous could be found among the townsfolk. Even so, Merlin, Lancelot and perhaps Gawain could blend in among the people, listen for rumors, ask unobtrusive questions, get their bearings and be back in an hour.

“We’re not in Camelot. Technically, we’re trespassing. Best we visit the local lord, let him know we’re here and that we intend no hostility.” Arthur said, already kneeing his horse forward.

“And what if the local lord objects to our presence?” Merlin felt familiar frustration bubble up. Why did Arthur have to seek after trouble?

“If he does then it is better if we go to him and explain rather than being caught sneaking around.” Arthur did not bother to turn his head or slow his mount.

“Are you going to tell them exactly who you are, my lord?” Leon asked. The knight spoke very respectfully but Merlin felt that Leon was on his side in this.

“Merlin?” Gawain called from several yards back distracting the wizard from Arthur’s answer. “Can I speak to you?”

“Sure, Gawain. Just a minute.” Merlin had missed whatever Arthur said to Leon in reply.

“Still, would not some caution be prudent?” Lancelot was on Arthur’s left side.

“Yes and we will be cautious. Now, that’s enough.” Arthur ended the discussion and both Leon and Lancelot nodded their acquiescence. A few seconds later, Merlin nodded as well but he couldn’t help but feel Leon and Lancelot had given in too soon.

“What is it, Gawain?” Merlin asked pausing to let Gawain catch up to him.

“Merlin . . . I . . .”

“Do you think we’ll be allowed to stop for a drink?” Elyan asked from Gawain’s other side.

“The tavern is definitely the place to hear rumors.” Merlin said with a smile for Elyan.

“Definitely. Of course we can’t expect to get all the information we need right away. We may need a few hours, you know, before people will open up to us.” Elyan agreed.

“Everyone keep together until we get the lay of the land.” Leon called back to spoil the fun. “Don’t wander off.”

“Yes, mother.” Elyan sang out. “We’ll be good.”

Smiling at the back and forth, Merlin turned his attention to their destination. The little town was not much by the standards of Camelot and Merlin told himself that it wasn’t really fair to use the great castle as his measure of comparison. 

There was a wooden palisade around the town that stood at least ten feet high. The homes were small but well-kept. The size of the manor house was impressive in comparison to the rest of the buildings. It was made from stones and there were arrows slits instead of windows. The manor might serve as a defensible fortress in wartime. It was clearly peacetime though as the town gate stood wide open, as did the manor gate. Men, women and children could be seen milling about. Many were clustered loosely together apparently enjoying a fine spring day.

“Does anyone recognize a gold pentangle on a field of green?” Arthur asked as the breeze stirred the pennants hung from the manor. He was answered with a chorus of ‘no’s’. 

“Orkney, maybe.” Leon essayed. 

“Merlin?” Gawain called again. “I .. . I really . . . .”

Turning in his saddle, Merlin regarded Gawain quizzically. The man looked a little peaked. “Are you not feeling well?” Merlin asked drawing his brows down in concern. 

“No! No. I’m fine. I just . . . It’s nothing.”

“Are you sure?” Merlin did not find this assurance convincing but they were drawing close to the gate now. They were getting stares from the townsfolk and the gate guards had emerged and were looking as though they were preparing to challenge the horsemen. Arthur had signaled Leon to take the lead. The first knight would start out doing the talking. 

“Yeah, we’ll talk later.” 

Merlin nodded then hurried to take his place by Arthur. 

“Travelers, who are you and what is your business in Orkney?” The bolder of the gate guards demanded.

“We are knights of Camelot.” Leon said smoothly. He was pleased to have been right. Orkney wasn’t bad but it wasn’t especially good either. The coin had sent them very far north indeed. “We have come from Camelot in pursuit of a dangerous magical artifact. But, we have lost our way. We have come to pay our respects to the lord of this land and to inquire after any information that may lead us to our goal.”

After Leon’s speech, there was a flurry of movement. Without specifically looking Leon saw a man, who must have been a guard for he had a sword, sprint toward the manor.

“King Lot rules this land from the eastern sea to the red hills. You will wait here until I receive orders.” The guard spoke with admirable firmness. Leon appreciated professionalism. After inclining his head in acknowledgment, the knight fixed his gaze ahead and waited. 

The minutes stretched. Several more men ran back and forth between the town gate and the manor. Whispers and indecipherable looks were exchanged among the guards. The townsfolk were beginning to gather curiously around the knights. They kept a reasonable distance between themselves and the massive horses but their numbers slowly grew as word spread of the strange new arrivals.

Finally, after one last frantic exchange of whispers, the guard who had initially spoken to Leon looked up and invited the knights to follow him. The knights followed the guard but they did not deign to dismount until they were almost at the door. When men came forward to take the horses’ bridles, Leon and the others surrendered them stoically. 

From there they were led within the manor where they were met by a group of several men. This small contingent consisted mostly of armed and bearded men with two exceptions. The first of these was wearing a fine blue robe trimmed with fur. There were rings on his fingers and he held himself as a man does who is accustomed to authority. The final member of the group loitered a little away from the others. He was dressed humbly but not poorly and he watched the men from Camelot with an appraising eye.

The best dressed of the men awaiting them offered a stiff greeting. He then explained that Orkney’s witches’ council, their bana-bhuidseach, was eager to exchange information about their quest. Arthur took this as a promising sign. When Arthur had sent invitations throughout Albion inviting all the kingdoms to send knights to fight the Saxons, Lot had declined. He had been polite about it but he had also made it clear that he did not consider the Saxons to be his problem. Maybe the magical folk of Orkney had more community spirit. Maybe the idea of Emrys inspired cooperation among them in a way that Arthur could not.

The man from Orkney had been addressing Leon- though his eyes roved over the entire group. Now Arthur stepped forward. “I am Arthur Pendragon. I regret to have so suddenly and unexpectedly imposed myself on your hospitality but I am grateful for your generous greeting.” 

As Arthur introduced himself a ripple of shifting expressions passed over the faces of the Orkney men. Arthur could not discern the full mix of emotions that greeted his announcement but he could tell that surprise was not predominant. He must have been recognized, then. Arthur could not suppress a sliver of satisfaction. He had allowed Leon to take the lead while they were at the gate but it was always better to be as upfront with people as possible. 

On the heels of that thought, Arthur realized that he should now introduce Merlin as he was in the best position to speak with the witches’ council. Arthur’s spirit deflated slightly. He was not going to be upfront about Merlin. While there were good reasons for circumspection Arthur was annoyed to have his satisfaction at his own straightforwardness undercut so quickly. “We left Camelot with little warning and we are not as well informed upon every aspect of our quest as we would like to be. Though Merlin, here, is better acquainted than the rest of us with some of the magic involved and would be happy to meet your witches’ council.”

As his name was mentioned, Merlin inclined his head. He had to hide a small smile at the way Arthur had introduced him- downplaying his prowess, without saying anything untrue. Arthur, Merlin and Gwen had decided among themselves that Emrys and Merlin needed to be separate. Even though this policy might occasionally lead to some inconvenience or confusion, there were plenty of political and personal reasons to keep it up. In this situation particularly, Merlin was glad to be able to ask questions about the Cup of Life and the Castle Perilous from the prospective of a slightly bumbling apprentice rather than the most powerful sorcerer to ever live.

The man who had first greeted them inclined his head toward Merlin then returned his focus to Arthur. “I shall inform King Lot. While the sorcerers speak of their craft, I have no doubt my king will be pleased to give you greeting.”

Accompanied by his guardsmen, the councilor swept from the room. The door closed firmly behind him and Arthur was pleased that he did not hear the click of a bolt. He wasn’t looking forward to a meeting with Lot. Arthur hated to be in the wrong and in this he was- technically- in the wrong. Still he hoped Lot would be gracious. After all, his sorcerers seemed aware that danger was afoot.

“My lord?” When the councilor left the room one man had remained behind. Now he came forward. He spoke respectfully to Arthur but his eyes were all for Merlin. “I am Anholt. I would be glad to take Merlin to speak with the bana-bhuidseach.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow at Merlin, questioning. Merlin’s mouth was drawn down in a tight line but he lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. He felt anxious but it was not the prickling foreboding, the icy-fingered tickle in his guts that was his magic’s sensitivity to danger.

“The bana-bhuidseach swears no harm will befall the Once and Future King within this castle.” Anholt still looked at Merlin as he spoke and Merlin felt himself relax. He believed these words. He had no ready explanation for why and he dreaded being asked to provide one but he had been reassured.

“I presume- and I apologize as I’m sure it is insultingly unnecessary to so much as ask- that you are empowered to give this oath and that it covers all in this company.” Arthur had crossed his arms over his chest and there was anger pounding behind the supercilious cold.

“The promise comes from the bhuidseach but I was given no more words to say, my lord.” Anholt finally tore his gaze from Merlin to regard Arthur. His unassuming tone was belied by a tiny smile.

“A moment,” Arthur demanded. Turning his back to Anholt, he gestured for Merlin to follow him. There was no place to speak privately but Arthur led Merlin as far from Anholt as the room would allow. 

“What kind of trick is this?” Arthur asked Merlin as quietly as he could.

“No trick that I can see.” Anholt had triggered Arthur’s suspicion by invoking the once and future king title even as he allayed Merlin’s. It did not help that the unsolicited promise of protection was reserved for Arthur alone. “I’ll go talk to the bana-bhuidseach and you can talk to Lot. There have always been sorcerers and magical forces working for a united Albion. We’ve found help before where we haven’t had any particular reason to expect it. I know you are more accustomed to finding magical opposition but I believe Anholt.”

“Do they know you’re . . . ?” Arthur would have liked a more thorough explanation but if he was willing to entertain the idea that the Cailleach was willing to help then he ought to at least give Orkney’s witches the benefit of the doubt.

“I don’t know but I would guess not.” Usually when people knew Merlin’s identity as Emrys they spoke directly into his mind. The knowledge of his identity and the ability to speak inside another’s head seemed mostly reserved to Druids although it was not universal among them. Merlin did not like being recognized without being introduced. He hoped that as his skill improved he would learn to hide himself- even from the Druids. Maybe he could even keep people from speaking in his head uninvited. 

“I want Lancelot to go with you.”

“I don’t need a minder.” Merlin objected reflexively.

“Maybe I want you to mind him.” Arthur shot back.

Merlin paused and his eyes widened slightly. “Do you think he might-“

“No!” Arthur said as realization struck, “I was being glib. I have every confidence in Lancelot. I have every confidence in you. Just . . . mind each other.”

“Yes, Sire.” With a moment to think about it, Merlin had no objection to taking Lancelot with him to meet the bana-bhuidseach. Merlin was in the habit of doing things on his own. There had been occasions when he had invited help from Lancelot or Gawain but that had been after due consideration and even with Lancelot, Merlin was careful about how much information to give. Things were different now. He no longer had to guard himself against his friends.

Merlin was on the point of going back to Anholt and getting on with this bana-bhuidseach business when Arthur’s caught his arm. 

“Here, keep this for me.” Arthur drew Excalibur and offered Merlin the hilt.

“Are you kidding?”

“No.” Arthur wondered what it would be like to have a servant where he could leave it at that but Merlin just stood there looking skeptical. “I can’t take it in to see Lot. So, I’d rather you held on to it than leave it with the palace guards.”

Merlin didn’t like that Arthur should be without Excalibur- despite Anholt’s promise. But, he saw Arthur’s point. He accepted the sword unable to entirely conceal his reluctance. From across the room, Anholt’s eyes gleamed.

“Lancelot, you’re with Merlin.” Arthur announced smiling at the room at large. He clapped Merlin’s shoulder then looked over to Anholt and gave him a nod thanking him for his indulgence.  
*  
The corridor was dim. Torches smoked and guttered at regular intervals but the shadows crept in upon their flickering glow. Merlin exchanged looks with Lancelot as the two trooped dutifully behind Anholt. At any moment, Merlin expected to be led down a narrow, twisting staircase and hear a distant drip drip of water sliding off sweating rock.

The heavy oak door with a large iron lock was in line with his prediction but once it had been pushed open on rusted hinges, Anholt led them out into a walled garden. Again Merlin and Lancelot looked at each other. A combination of scents enveloped Merlin and he was acutely reminded of Gaius’s workroom. 

Anholt strode confidently over the uneven stones that were slowly disappearing beneath weeds. Merlin found that his eyes were drawn to the herbs and flowering plants surrounding him. Then he paid for his inattention as Lancelot caught his arm to prevent him from tripping headlong onto the ground. Merlin smiled his thanks and his smile was the brighter because Anholt had not noticed.

After several turns, the path led to a fountain with two stone benches around it. In the center of the pool stood a statue of three salmon leaping into the air. Water burbled from their mouths to splash back into the pool. 

“The bana-bhuidseach will arrive soon.” Anholt turned and spread his hands to invite Merlin and Lancelot to make themselves comfortable. Then, with a small bow, he continued down the garden path.

Merlin hadn’t expected to wait. He had been mentally preparing and now that the encounter was delayed he wasn’t sure what to do with himself. As he made his way to one of the benches in front of the salmon, Merlin wondered if that had been intended.

Unaccustomed to a sword at his hip, it took Merlin a few moments to arrange himself comfortably with Excalibur. He untied his neckerchief and wrapped it around the hilt. There was no disguising the quality of the blade but Merlin hoped he could dress the sword down a bit. He saw no need to advertise what he had.

Seeing him Lancelot smiled. “That’s not going to help.” 

“Maybe if no one looks closely.”

“You could use magic,” Lancelot said softly. “Make the blade look dull.”

“Best not.” Merlin answered. “I don’t have a specific spell and casting a glamor on Excalibur is not the sort of thing I want to try freehand. Besides, we’re about to meet Orkney’s council of witches. A glamour might make the sword more conspicuous rather than less.”

Lancelot nodded to acknowledge the wisdom of this. There was silence for a while as Lancelot went over to lean against the fountain edge. His gaze grew unfocused and he stared off in the middle distance.

“How are you doing?” Merlin asked gently distracting Lancelot from his reverie.

Lancelot shook his head and shrugged. He didn’t know how to answer such a question.

“Glad to be alive?” Merlin coaxed.

Lancelot considered. “Yes. Yes. I -. As long as I don’t think about anything very much.” 

There was more silence. Afraid to be left with his own thoughts Lancelot finally asked Merlin how he was doing.

“Glad to be alive.” Merlin grinned brightly for a moment then let the expression soften into something subtler and more contemplative.

“I- Is everything- Your magic? Is, is that all right?” Lancelot did not like that he sounded so tentative but time and events stood unexplored between him and the sorcerer.

“Yes- as long as I don’t think about it very much.” As soon as Merlin spoke he shook his head to negate his answer. He had been trying to be clever but the words felt wrong on his lips. 

“Arthur . . . is all right with it?” Lancelot persisted. He had already questioned Leon and Percival and been mostly reassured. Lancelot had also observed Arthur and Merlin together and his observations made him think that, yes, everything was all right but Lancelot couldn’t quite trust it. Perhaps it was his uncertainty and confusion about his own place but Lancelot needed to know Merlin and Arthur had passed through their ordeal without too much harm.

“Arthur is trying to be very fair.” Merlin said.

Lancelot considered. “Why aren’t you court sorcerer then?”

“But, I am” Merlin smiled, his voice lowered. “At least Emrys is.”

“I don’t understand.”

“As far as most people know,” Merlin all but whispered. “Emrys is the great sorcerer. I just know bits and pieces that Gaius taught me- and that Emrys is now teaching me.”

“Does Arthur know . . . Emrys?”

“Arthur knows everything. I told him all of it.”

“That can’t have been easy.” Lancelot murmured, his admiration for Merlin’s strength and bravery swelling. “I hope- I hope it wasn’t too painful. You deserve so much credit and recognition, Merlin. It wasn’t your fault Uther made you keep so many secrets. Arthur can see that right? I mean, I know it can’t have been easy but it was all right? In the end? You know, I can’t bear to think of you unhappy.”

“Thank you, Lancelot.” Merlin spoke sincerely but he felt wistful. “You’ve always been good to me. But believe me, I’m no hero. Yes, I know, Uther . . . but, not every single lie I told was a matter of absolute self-preservation. There were times that I lied because . . . it was just . . . easier.” Merlin swallowed hard and shook his head. 

“You mustn’t blame yourself, Merlin.” Lancelot soothed. “It was just a bad situation. You were trapped by circumstance. Even Arthur must realize that now.”

Merlin tried to smile but he didn’t want Lancelot’s comfort. Lancelot had always been his friend but it occurred to Merlin that Lancelot might have been a better friend if he had not been so completely unquestioning of all of Merlin’s decisions. “Things are better now. But, truly, Lancelot, I’m not- You mustn’t think that I am beyond criticism in all this. I wasn’t infallible and I didn’t always know what was best. I- I hope you don’t think that I thought I was better than everyone else, that I was just putting up with people for the sake of a heroic destiny or something.”

Lancelot lowered his eyes in shame as he remembered the Merlin of Elaine’s Camelot. “I’m so sorry Merlin! That’s not how I see you. Truly. I have so much respect for you but I don’t how that got turned into . . .. I don’t know how the magic did what it did, but I don’t see you like that.”

Merlin waived off Lancelot’s distress. “I know. Of course.” At first, he had been hurt by the way Elaine’s Camelot had represented him. He was not a wining little know-it-all with a martyr complex! The caricature stung because, as in the nature of all caricature, there was a- very tiny- grain of truth in some of it and Merlin had been taken utterly off-guard by it. Merlin had always striven to control how much the world knew of him. That was necessary if he was going to keep his magic protected. Merlin lamented having to keep his noblest and best deeds a secret but the converse of that was that he also kept his worst deeds secret. If someone wanted to insult him he was called clumsy, impertinent, foolish, lazy, incompetent. He certainly didn’t enjoy that but in his heart of hearts he knew those names didn’t truly describe him. But, Elaine’s Camelot had painted a picture of Merlin that he wasn’t used to seeing. It had shown him a reflection of himself that he had never had to truly confront. Not in the way Gawain could acknowledge that yes, he was sometimes loud and obnoxious or Leon could acknowledge that yes, he was sometimes a bit too caught up in rules and procedure.

It had upset Merlin. It had pierced armor he didn’t even realize had always been there to protect him. And, it was the more upsetting because Arthur and the other knights had witnessed it. Despite that, once Merlin realized that the false Camelot and all its inhabitants were not intended as psychological warfare he was able to relax. Elaine’s Merlin was not an accusation. There was no animus directing the characters. Lancelot deeply respected Merlin and while he thought the best of him at all times there were real contradictions in Merlin’s behavior that when combined with magic and pushed to absurdity had resulted in Elaine’s Merlin. In such circumstances how could Merlin remain offended? Lancelot had been the one made vulnerable. Lancelot had been the one whose privacy had been invaded. Lancelot was the one whose naked soul had been put on display.

“I wish it hadn’t happened. I wish no one had seen.” Lancelot murmured. His spirit felt so raw and tender that it was hard not to curl up in on himself and nurse his hurt somewhere far away but Lancelot was also afraid to be alone with his thoughts.

Getting up from his place on the bench, Merlin walked over and patted Lancelot’s arm saying nothing but trying to convey support.

“It’s taking a while.” Merlin commented several minutes later. He had returned to his place on the bench and he had been keeping up a mostly one-sided stream of conversation about the everyday doings in Camelot to keep Lancelot from getting lost in dark thoughts. As he spoke, a cloud drifted by the sun. The sudden shadow seemed to bring Merlin to an acute awareness of the passage of time. “How long do you think we’ve been waiting?”

Turning his own eyes to the sky, Lancelot considered. “Two hours? A little less?”

Merlin tapped his fingers against the stone bench. What was the delay? Was it just tactical rudeness or was there something else at play.

“Should we go back?” Lancelot asked concerned by Merlin’s concern.

“No, not yet.” Merlin pushed down his anxiety. The peace of the garden, which had been a welcome sanctuary from the noise of the manor, was beginning to make Merlin feel isolated. He wished he had thought to ask Anholt how long they could expect to wait.

There was silence, as Merlin no longer had the heart to keep up his idle chatter. The quiet made the movement of time more obtrusive.

“Merlin . . .” Lancelot’s call was a welcome distraction and Merlin focused again on the knight. “Would you tell me more about what’s been happening in Camelot?”

Merlin considered this request briefly. He had been talking about what had been happening in Camelot at great length and seemed to only partially draw Lancelot from his private brooding. Perhaps even a partial distraction was better than nothing though. Merlin was on the point of launching into a discussion of Edith and Edwin- Camelot’s recently acquired Druids- when Merlin caught something desperate and fragile in Lancelot’s expression.

“Lord Greyling will be sending his youngest daughter, Celeste, to foster at Camelot and be a lady’s maid to the Queen. Gwen is ever so pleased. Apparently, it’s a political calculation. If Arthur’s at all successful with his league of allied knights then- I’m told- Camelot will be the place to go to find a husband but it’s more than that. The fact that Lord Greyling is willing to give Gwen the care and supervision of his child is an immense display of confidence and support. There are bound to be others as time goes on and Gwen is just chuffed at the opportunity. She is already planning the best care and education for Celeste that she can conceive of. She’s been making lists of all the things a young girl could possibly want or need. Arthur’s certain that she is going to spoil the child.”

“She won’t.” Lancelot’s face had softened into something serene and peaceful. He had not asked about Guinevere but his eagerness to know consumed him. “She will turn Celeste into a fine young lady.”

“Yes, she will.” Merlin agreed. “But, Gwen has decided that for every daughter of the nobility she takes into her household she will accept one of the common born in Camelot to have the same care and education.”

“Gwen has such a good heart.” Lancelot was smiling now.

“The people love her. She is a true Queen, good and honest.” Merlin assured and it was true. Despite the scandal, despite her humble origins, Guinevere was loved. She made the court a brighter place. There had been very few prominent women at court in Uther’s time. Morgana had never cultivated a network of female friends and allies and- Merlin thought suddenly- like the exclusion of magic everyone had been subtly and not so subtly diminished by the lack. “It’s as if this was how it was always meant to be- the way it has to be. The way it must always be.”

“Yes.” Lancelot answered and Merlin could see that he understood.

The sound of footsteps intruded into the quiet garden and Merlin perked up. He immediately let himself slouch back again though. He did not want to appear over-eager for attention after the bana-bhuidseach had made him wait. Lancelot drew himself up like a guard on duty- which was how he understood his role in this- and did his best to become part of the landscape.

Eventually, a man and woman appeared from around the path. Each carried a staff and was swathed head to foot in light grey robes. The woman could have been any age between thirty and fifty and her face bore the scars of a childhood illness. She struck Merlin as forbidding. She smiled as she approached but the tension never left her face.

The man looked to be in his late forties or early fifties. He showed his age in his walk and posture more than in his face. He smiled genially but there too Merlin saw the expression as somewhat forced. The man lowered himself onto a bench in apparent relief. Anholt walked dutifully behind the robed figures carrying a tray that held a pitcher and three goblets.

“Merlin, may I present to you Mhiume and Bradan of the Orkney Bhuidseach.” Anholt poured a dark red liquid into each goblet as he spoke.

“Mhiume and Bradan may I present Merlin of Camelot.” Anholt finished the introductions and brought a full cup to Bradan who took it gratefully and drank deeply. Then Anholt brought a cup to Merlin, who had risen to his feet to greet the Bhuidseach. The third cup he gave to Mhiume. She touched the goblet to her lips and put it aside.

As it seemed to be the polite thing to do, Merlin took a cautious sip from his own glass. It was a kind of wine he had never tasted but it was not unpleasant.

Seeing that all had drunk, Anholt returned to the tray and broke a small loaf of bread that he had also brought into three pieces. As last time, Bradan attacked his portion with gusto and Mhiume took only a token bite. For his part, Merlin ate all the bread allotted to him. It had been a while since breakfast.

“We are surprised to see our message answered so quickly. Emrys does not waste time it seems. You are welcome here, Merlin. What news do you bring us from Emrys?” As Mhiume spoke she settled herself next to Bradan and leaned forward resting some of her weight on her staff. Her pose was meant to convey easy interest but her posture was too stiff to be truly relaxed. It occurred to Merlin that they were afraid of him- or perhaps not of him exactly, but their manner oozed trepidation. Did they know he was Emrys? If they did then why not just acknowledge it?

Merlin wished he had not eaten the bread quite so quickly. He sat back down and took another sip of wine to give himself a second to think. 

“I’m sorry but I don’t know of any message.” Merlin finally answered as his brain provided him no subterfuge that could stand up to question. “I am here because Emrys has heard rumors concerning the Cup of Life and he sent me to ask if you knew anything about its current whereabouts.”

Mhiume and Bradan exchanged a look. They weren’t pleased Emrys had heard from others before them apparently. Whether that was because they had hoped to be the ones who got credit for giving the information to Emrys or because they were worried about who else might know the Cup’s location Merlin couldn’t tell. 

“About six weeks ago, some of our seers began having visions involving the Cup and the Castle Perilous.” Mhiume began. “Some of the dreams also involved Rhongomynyad though there were fewer of those.”

“That is not altogether unusual of course. The treasures intrude upon those sensitive to prophecy all the time- such is the force of their magic- but this was different. Too many of our seers were dreaming nightly. As ever, interpreting their visions was not easy. It confused us that the Cup should have come to be in the Castle Perilous. The last we heard of it, it was in Camelot. But, we know something happened then. The reports we heard were contradictory and sometimes incoherent . . . Perhaps you can tell us?”

Merlin chewed his lip. What had happened immediately after Excalibur struck the Cup? Everything had been so chaotic. “There was a battle. When it was over no one could find the Cup. I don’t know. I wasn’t really involved.” Merlin was unwilling to go into any details with the Bhuidseach.

Again Mhiume and Bradan exchanged look. And again Merlin was struck by the idea that these two were afraid for some reason. Then Bradan spoke carefully. “If Emrys had Excalibur and Morgana had the Cup. A collision between the two would have been very powerful- powerful enough to send the Cup far away . . . I don’t know.” 

Merlin considered. He had not seen the Cup disappear. But, it must have gone somewhere. Between Excalibur and Morgana’s last wild outburst of uncontrolled magic maybe it had been sent to the Castle Perilous. The Cup would probably have an affinity for a place like that and frankly it made more sense than someone finding it in the wreckage and walking out with it under their coat.

Bradan gestured to Anholt to refill his cup and then drank thirstily. After he finished he looked like he would have liked more. “We don’t know how the Cup came here but we feel that it is here. It may even be that there is some clue to the other treasures in the Castle. The Castle lies at the end of many quests and it holds many mysteries. At any rate, as soon as we were confident about the Cup’s place, we sent one of our most gifted seers to Camelot with a message for Emrys.”

Merlin kept his face as neutral as he could. During this entire conversation he tried not to so much as think about Excalibur. It might not necessarily be disastrous if the Bhuidseach knew he had the sword with him but he would keep it secret if he could. Even as he knew he wanted to keep the sword secret though, Merlin couldn’t quite fathom how Mhiume and Bradan didn’t know it was there. Merlin was so conscious of the weapon at his side that he thought it might actually be glowing. Still, Merlin himself had not always immediately recognized the magic of something nearby. Perhaps their focus was directed elsewhere or, even more simply, the Bhuidseach did not expect for Merlin to have Excalibur so the thought did not occur to them even as the sword was almost within touching distance. 

It also unnerved Merlin that the fact of Excalibur’s existence was evidently well-known among magic folk. Merlin hadn’t really considered how the goings-on in Camelot would look to the outside world. A part of him, hadn’t expected anyone to be paying that close attention; that they would all have their own problems to deal with. Perhaps that was naïve though. All Albion was involved in the prophecies. Anyone with enough magic or enough old knowledge would want to watch Emrys and Camelot closely. That, Merlin thought to himself, did not make it any easier when complete strangers seemed to know more about his business than he did.

As Merlin brooded on being the last to know it gradually began to dawn on him that he might actually have met the Orkney messenger. Magic Market Day, there had been someone . . . He had been spouting something about treasures. Yes, now Merlin remembered. The man called himself Tobin and he had spoken of love, truth, justice and peace. Even as color tinted Merlin’s cheeks at not making the connection earlier he excused himself with the thought that there was no way he could possibly be expected to keep everyone who approached Emrys with wide eyes and a vaguely poetic set of ramblings straight in his head. Now what was it Tobin had actually said . . .? 

“Since then, the visions have become yet clearer.” Bradan continued, oblivious to Merlin’s churning thoughts. “The Cup of Life is definitely here.”

“But, why send word to Emrys?” Merlin couldn’t help but ask. “Are you unable to get into the Castle?”

“We know very well how to draw the Castle to us.” Bradan was offended but he calmed quickly. In a more measured tone he said, “It seemed prudent to send for Emrys.” 

“Prudent?”

Mhiume shrugged. “There was . . . discussion, but ultimately we saw ourselves as the farmer who discovers a chest of gold while plowing his field. At first, he is excited and his mind teems with grand ideas but he cannot readily spend so much gold and he certainly cannot defend it against all those who would seek to take it from him. Indeed even those closest to him become a danger as his friends and neighbors look upon his gold with hungry eyes.”

“The Bhuidseach of Orkney has never sought prominence for itself. We are simple folk. We tend to those in our care as best we may. We devote ourselves and our magic to the people and the land. The treasures are beyond us. Prophecy says that Emrys will reunite the magic and the land if indeed such a thing is even possible. Already you have Excalibur. We thought better to yield the Cup and whatever else we might learn of Rhongomynyad and the Table to Emrys, who we have some hope might protect them and use them to their proper purpose. As tempting as the Cup of Life is, it would end up destroying us if we tried to hold it against all those who would come seeking it.”

“Will you help me then, to find the Castle?” Merlin asked tentatively. He was inclined to believe Mhiume but it still seemed to him that both she and Bradan were more nervous than they should be.

“That is our intention. But,” Mhiume paused and Bradan finished for her. “We have questions.”

“All right.” Merlin tried not to stiffen. It was reasonable to have questions.

“Why has Emrys not come himself? The Castle Perilous is not to be assayed by any but the most powerful sorcerers and the most noble of heroes. Does Emrys not take this seriously? We have dealt in complete good faith. Why, why did he send the Once and Future King here?” As Mhiume spoke she became more agitated until the final question was asked with near desperation.

“I would not have been sent if Emrys did not believe I had magic enough.” Merlin said carefully.

Bradan waived, dismissing Merlin’s words. “Maybe you’re stronger than you look; maybe the great sorcerer’s ways are secret; but why is Arthur here?”

As had happened with Tobin, Merlin began to feel the uncomfortable sensation of pepper in his nose, followed by the sudden feeling of a foreign touch. Merlin’s muscles tensed and fought the urge to lash out. His eyes flew to Mhiume and then to Bradan. He saw no rings on their fingers but the feeling was unmistakable- stronger than it had been with Tobin. Merlin wanted to shrink away from the clammy touch of a strange mind but he resisted. He clamped down hard on the urgent thought: ‘Don’t touch me! Get your hands off of me! Don’t touch me!’ and he let it happen. 

As he endured the probing he sought to subtly guide it. He tried to let it see and feel only as much as he was willing to reveal without exposing the fact that he was deliberately holding back. He allowed the foreign thing to know his magic- just a little, a very little, but enough to prove that he had power. He let the wispy cold flutter over the surface of his thoughts. He permitted it to sense his commitment to Albion and his lack of harmful intent. It was difficult but Merlin drew the questing mind away from his bond to Kilgharrah and dragonkind distracting it with still private but less dangerous parts of himself. For a moment more he endured the groping but then the touch began to ever so slowly creep near Excalibur, near the part of Merlin that was half of a whole, near Arthur. 

Merlin jerked back- physically and magically. There was a soft sound behind Merlin and the sorcerer whirled to see Anholt looking flustered and somewhat out of breath. He was shaking his right hand as though it had been burned and as he did so Merlin saw the match to Tobin’s ring on Anholt’s finger. Anger burned in Merlin. He could have snarled, yelled. He wanted to but then his eye caught on Lancelot. The knight could have had no idea what was going on but he had his sword drawn and he had maneuvered himself to cover Merlin’s blind spot. With a jolt Merlin realized that Lancelot was ready to kill on Merlin’s say so. That fact sobered Merlin in a way that his own readiness for violence had not. Merlin took a breath.

“Don’t ever do that again.” Merlin said quietly.

Anholt looked satisfyingly intimidated but his eyes still sought out Mhiume and Bradan. It was not until the two older sorcerers nodded that Anholt bowed his head and took a symbolic step backward.

“You cannot expect us to trust blindly.” Mhiume said almost accusingly.

Merlin could not bring himself to answer. Instead he gestured to Lancelot and the knight sheathed his sword and once again seemed to fade into the background.

“You must understand. This is no small matter and you have put us in a difficult position.” Bradan said, placating. It seemed finally they had come to the matter that had weighed on the Bhuidseach since the beginning of their meeting. “Whatever we may think of Lot as a person he is the anointed king of Orkney. The land has accepted him here. We have no choice but to support him against any attack.”

Flummoxed into continued speechlessness by the non-sequitor, Merlin simply stared at Bradan.

“We have sworn that no harm will come to the Once and Future King but we cannot abandon Lot.” Mhiume went on and her lack of enthusiasm for this position was audible in every word. “If the lost prince comes to claim the crown of Orkney then there will be a fight regardless of who stands beside him.”

“Neither Emrys nor Arthur has any interest in Lot’s crown.” Merlin said still not understanding where this was coming from. Did the Bhuidseach think Arthur wanted to be king of Orkney? Was that why they were so upset that he was here? Even if it was Arthur’s plan to unite Albion by conquest why would he start with Orkney? And why would he come with just a handful of knights?

“And the lost prince?” Mhiume demanded.

“The lost prince will have no help from Camelot or Emrys against Lot.” Merlin promised. 

With this all three Orkney sorcerers visibly relaxed. Merlin wished they would have just asked if Arthur wanted to overthrow Lot in the beginning. It was a delicate question but Merlin liked to think that they were all ultimately on the same side and that neither Emrys nor Arthur had done anything to justify the Bhuidseach in suspecting a coup. 

“Good. That’s very good.” Bradan clapped his hands as though declaring the matter settled. He face was open now and his smile genuine. Merlin thought he looked like a different person. “Now that that’s out of the way, we can get on to the interesting bit. What do you know, Merlin, about summoning spells?”  
*  
Arthur watched Merlin and Lancelot follow Anholt from the room with a mix of pride and anxiety. Arthur believed in Merlin’s magical prowess but it was a belief that rested largely on faith. The fact of Merlin’s magic was undeniable but the notion that Merlin’s magic was world-changing was much more difficult for Arthur to take in. How did one even rate the comparative strengths of magicians? What was difficult and what was easy? Apparently lighting a candle was magical child’s play but moving objects required greater strength. That didn’t particularly make sense to Arthur. Once the laws of nature were suspended one impossible thing was no more or less impressive to him than any other impossible thing. 

So Arthur took pride in Merlin’s exceptional magic and he took greater pride in Merlin’s willingness to devote that magic to Arthur and to Camelot. But, Arthur was also nervous. He didn’t know how to help Merlin or support him when magic was involved. His nervousness was made worse by Anholt’s manner. The way Anholt had spoken, the look in his eye indicated that he believed that magic created a bond between himself and Merlin as if- though they came from different kingdoms- there was a greater bond between them than either could have with the others in the room. On top of that Anholt had had the audacity to promise Merlin that Arthur would not be harmed and Merlin had trusted this. Arthur had found that grossly insulting. It roused every one of his dormant fears that Merlin would use magic to sort things to his own- always well-meaning- designs and Arthur would be dragged along all unknowing like so much ballast. 

But, that was in the past. Arthur trusted Merlin. Part of trust was giving Merlin scope within his sphere of expertise. Merlin would handle the Bhuidseach.

“Arthur?”

Arthur was broken from his musings by Gawain, who- uncharacteristically- sounded timid. Raising an eyebrow, Arthur allowed his attention to shift toward the knight.

“Arthur,” Gawain repeated. His brown eyes shone large and sorrowful.

“What’s the matter with you?” Arthur asked, brow furrowing with concern only slightly tinted with impatience.

“There’s something I should tell you.” Gawain kept his voice soft and took a step backward in an attempt to draw Arthur away into a private conversation.

“My lord?” The well-dressed, bejeweled man who had first greeted them had returned with his men. Now he stood at the door and made a sweeping gesture to invite Arthur to follow him.

Arthur spared him a glance but then turned back to Gawain. Gawain avoided his eye though. He seemed almost to shrink back into Percival’s shadow. Arthur shrugged and turned his attention to his coming meeting with Lot.

At least Arthur tried to focus his attention on Lot. As he walked down what he felt was an unnecessarily narrow corridor he found it difficult to concentrate on what lay ahead. He felt off-balance. He missed Excalibur at his hip and he missed Merlin at his side. Vaguely ashamed that the temporary loss of his sword and sorcerer should have him so discombobulated, Arthur frowned. Immediately, he caught himself and smoothed his features into inscrutability.

Resisting the urge to shift his shoulders, Arthur noticed that his knights were not where he expected them to be. Without looking but by a sort of proprioception that made Arthur aware of his knights’ position relative to himself in the same way he was aware of the position of his own body he knew they had not fallen into their typical formation. Gawain was not swaggering along at his left. Confused more than anything else, Arthur turned his head to find Elyan in the place he expected to find Gawain. Turning his head a little further, Arthur finally found Gawain walking almost immediately behind Leon and in Percival’s lee. 

Arthur was on the point of raising his hand to signal for Gawain and Elyan to switch places when again he felt the same vague sense of shame as he had felt earlier. It was ridiculous that the slightest change in routine should put him off. He was going to make himself frantic worrying over details. Refusing to speculate about why he would suddenly feel ill at ease over Merlin’s very temporary absence or the random formation of his knights, Arthur sought the quiet center. It was easier before a battle or any physical fight where aggression, victory and defeat were all unambiguous but Arthur forced his mind to stillness and waited.

Before two heavy wooden doors, the party was asked to halt and the knights were asked to surrender their swords. Arthur had expected this and he was glad that he had thought to leave Excalibur with Merlin. While being unarmed was generally unpleasant, leaving one’s weapon in the care of others one did not trust was distressing. Leon gave up his sword with his usual stoicism though. Elyan and Percival showed more reluctance but they made no objection as they handed their blades to their escort. Gawain was also relieved of his weapon and Arthur found he was surprised that the knight had not offered any commentary during the process. Arthur supposed that it was possible that Gawain was not feeling well. He would need to keep that in mind in the event of a fight.

Once Camelot’s knights were all unarmed the wooden doors opened to reveal a long chamber. Banners displaying a golden pentangle on a green field dominated the room’s decoration to what Arthur couldn’t help but feel was an excessive degree. He loved his golden dragon as much as monarch e’er loved emblem but the quantity of banners contributed to Arthur’s increasing sense of crowding.

People pressed in on either side of the long room leaving an aisle down the center. There were more people than Arthur would have expected and he presumed that news of the strange visitors had traveled quickly. Casting a quick glance over the throng Arthur tried to gauge their mood. He hoped for welcome and curiosity and he feared hostility and suspicion but the only emotion he was able to discern was expectancy. These people were waiting for something.

A chair adorned with more green drapery stood on a dais at the end of the room. A large heavily bearded and fully armed man occupied the chair. He had a slightly narrow face and large brown eyes that tracked Arthur and the others as they moved into the room. Assuming that this was Lot, Arthur squared his shoulder and made his way forward.

As Arthur moved down the aisle he passed guards standing at regular intervals. He did not spare them particular notice except to be aware that there seemed to be a lot of them. There were close to a dozen men grouped along the wall behind Lot. Arriving before the throne, Arthur inclined his head briefly then gazed up at the seated figure. Lot met his eyes but then the King of Orkney turned his gaze on Arthur’s men. Arthur watched as each of his knights was studied in turn. This scrutiny lasted a long time and Arthur found he was not displeased by it. Arthur was fiercely proud of his knights and he was convinced that they showed very well. He was content to let Lot look and judge by what he saw.

“Arthur Pendragon of Camelot, this is a most unexpected visit.” Lot said after long seconds had passed. “I must wonder what dire business has brought you and your men to Orkney. We are so very far from your home and your interests.”

“We have been in pursuit of an object of some magical significance which may pose some danger if not secured. While searching for this object we have traveled long distances by a variety of means. It was never my intention to intrude upon Orkney’s boundaries and I must apologize for the breech of etiquette. I can only plead the necessity of securing dangerous magic as any mitigation.”

“And I would be glad to welcome you as my Bhuidseach tells me your quest is for all our good.” Lot was leaning forward. With each word his grip on the arms of his throne tightened until by the end his knuckles were white. “But, I wonder that you have not yet offered me the opportunity to greet my nephew. It has been many years since I last saw Gawain. All Orkney has worried over the fate of our missing prince. He chose to leave us of his own will. And he has asked no permission to return. Yet, now he is here, whole and hale and accompanied by powerful allies.”

“I can explain . . . .” Gawain began as cheerfully as he could. Everyone was staring at him. Lot, the men-at-arms, the throng of nobles and common folk but it was the astonished gazes of Arthur and the other knights that had him struggling not to fidget. “You see . . .. Well, actually, there’s been a small misun-“

“Sir Knight, you are speaking out of turn. Be quiet.” Arthur commanded in a cold, firm voice that roused the usual truculence in Gawain. He could sort this out if he was just given a moment but the chill in Arthur’s look quieted him. Without really understanding why and despite burgeoning resentment Gawain stood still and lowered his eyes.

Arthur turned back to Lot without waiting to see Gawain’s reaction as though there was no question in his mind that the knight would do as he was told. “King Lot, all these men with me are knights of Camelot. They are here because I have asked it of them. I chose them for their skill and loyalty and I gave no thought to any other consideration. If the presence of anyone here offends you than that is my responsibility and I will make whatever reparation that I can.”

Tearing his angry gaze from Gawain, Lot turned to Arthur. His brows drew together in concentration. The old King wanted to believe that there had been a misunderstanding; that the nearest male heir to his throne had not shown up suddenly with foreign troops to threaten his crown. The idea, so sudden and unexpected, had Lot seething. But, did Lot dare believe Gawain was here by some other happenstance? It seemed ridiculous. There was magic in this though, that threw everything into confusion at the best of times. Maybe this was a coincidence. Still, wasn’t it better to put an arrow into his errant nephew? Lot looked around at the crowded audience hall. His people wouldn’t like it very much. But, once it was done there wouldn’t be anything they could do about it . . . Lot looked at Arthur once more.

“I do not object to a visit from Knights of Camelot, especially as I have your promise, Arthur, that you take responsibility for all those with you.” Lot said slowly reaching toward the explanation Arthur offered. After so many years of abandonment was it really likely that Gawain- Gawain would return with aspirations for a throne?

Arthur inclined his head solemnly and Lot hung a moment longer in indecision. Would Arthur and Gawain be so cocksure as to put themselves in Lot’s power if they had immediate malicious intent. There might still be danger here, Lot told himself, surely it would be safer to take these arrogant men prisoner and hold them against an assurance that Orkney was not under threat. But, that course was dangerous too. Lot was a warrior. Despite his growing age he was still a doughty fighter but he had not held his throne for more than thirty years without also learning to avoid unnecessary battles. 

After a long exhale Lot signaled his guards to stand at ease. Letting an ironic smile crease his face he said jovially, “Then we must have a feast to show you welcome. I know time is pressing but I feel a celebration is called for.” Lot pushed himself to his feet and moved to Arthur clapping a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “While your sorcerer meets our Bhuidseach your men can have a chance to rest and you and I can take this opportunity to get to know one another. Come, let me show you the castle.”

Suddenly the crowd which had been preternaturally still in their focus upon the scene playing out before them came to life. Their whispering and jostling sapped some of the tension from Arthur and he let himself hope that the worst of the danger had passed. He murmured something gracious to Lot as he sought Leon’s eye.

“Keep everyone together.” He murmured as quietly as he could to the First Knight as Lot’s men came forward to press Arthur’s knights back the way they had come. For a moment it seemed Leon might argue. His instincts rebelled at leaving Arthur but though unhappiness could be read in every line of Leon’s face he nodded.  
*


	7. Chapter 7

Silence reigned between the two monarchs as Lot led Arthur toward his trophy rooms. As he did so he let some of the tension in him dissipate. Earlier that morning he had been interrupted in the midst of a routine report on the fishing harvest to hear that Prince Gawain- a name that Lot had not thought about in decades- was at the front gate wearing red and gold insignia. Lot was on the point of insisting that the report was mistaken- that whoever had been seen merely looked like his nephew when a second man rushed in to say that Arthur of Camelot was also there- Along with several other impressive looking men. They were demanding entrance. Lot had started to sweat. 

Confused and with fear slowly growing in his gut, Lot had given orders that all his guards, all men able to bear arms should be mustered. He sent out several patrols by the back gate to search the surrounding area in case there were more men hiding nearby. He was on the point of sending someone to call the Bhuidseach when Mhiume and Bradan came to him looking as flustered as Lot had ever seen them. Seeing such agitation on the usually calm- smug- faces of his witches increased Lot’s fear into something perilously close to panic.

The two witches had had the audacity to insist that Arthur- this stranger, this invader- was not to be harmed. He was here searching for some kind of treasure and there was some reason to do with magic that that was important. Lot remembered that Mhiume and Bradan had talked before about Camelot’s new sorcerer, Emrys. Lot usually didn‘t pay much attention to magical concerns but he had remembered Emrys because mention of the wizard scared the piss out of the Bhuidseach and Lot had enjoyed their discomfiture. Now though, his satisfaction at his sorcerers’ expense was being paid back to him because whether for fear of Emrys or some other secret magical imperative, Lot was being told that he was not allowed to defend himself. He would have howled at their treason if he had time but news of Prince Gawain and King Arthur was spreading fast and Lot needed to get a handle on matters as soon as possible.

With the crisis seemingly averted, Lot let some of his anger at the Bhuidseach go. In the immediacy of the moment, it had seemed as though his witches had turned on him but as ever their concern was magic not politics. If Camelot invaded or Prince Gawain challenged his uncle then the Bhuidseach would help Lot to the utmost of their ability. The witches were servants of the land and Lot was the anointed king and wedded to Orkney. It was not the servants’ place to kick their mistress’s husband out of bed even if they themselves fancied someone else.

Lot released an audible breath and Arthur turned to regard him. “You didn’t know Gawain was my nephew when you came here, did you?”

Arthur did not answer immediately. He was angry with Gawain but also very much aware that Gawain needed his protection. He didn’t want to antagonize Lot. He didn’t want to appear weak and he didn’t want to appear aggressive. It was a tricky line to walk in the best of circumstances and Arthur was navigating with a lot less information than he liked. “I didn’t know I was coming here at all.”

That wasn’t an answer but Lot felt himself relax a little more. He didn’t know Camelot’s King but it seemed to him that if Arthur intended to overthrow him and install his worthless nephew as a puppet in his place then Lot would be able to sense some sign of it in the other man.

“Sir Gawain is one of mine, King Lot. He is no threat to you.” Arthur said quietly. Lot found he believed him.

“Tell me, how did he come to you?” With some of his fears put to rest Lot found his curiosity aroused. “The last I knew of my brother’s son he was drinking and fighting his way through the worst whorehouses and taverns of Britain.”

“He is an excellent fighter and he fought for me.” Arthur answered the question but as he spoke he realized the answer didn’t feel very satisfactory. How had Gawain come to him? Had it been no more than chance coupled with Merlin’s charisma and an opportunity for adventure? The thought left him inexplicably depressed.

“He is a smart-assed troublemaker but he could always fight.” Lot acknowledged grudgingly and Arthur felt the need to clarify.

“Regardless of his prowess as a fighter I would not have taken him had I not believed him to be honorable.”

Lot raised a skeptical eyebrow. Maybe Gawain had changed but the old King’s memory of him was as a feckless lay-about who had convinced himself that he was some sort of champion of the underdog when really he was just mouthy and self-righteous. But, as the dust of decades’ old memories stirred Lot shrugged. He supposed it was possible that he might have been gentler with the boy especially after his father’s death. Gawain had taken everything so much to heart and Lot, new to his throne and feeling insecure, had had no patience with what he took to be challenges to his authority. Lot, too, had changed since then and he flattered himself that it was largely for the better.

The hollow sockets of a bear’s skull peered at Arthur as he walked past a display of large animal bones. Arthur tried to imagine the creature as it must have been- large and fierce, teeth and claws bared. It was a sobering image and Arthur acknowledged the strength and courage of the men who had taken the creature down.

“What do you need from me?” Arthur turned toward Lot and away from the skull.

“Even now the whole town, the whole kingdom is hearing the news of Gawain’s return.” Lot met Arthur’s gaze with eyes that suddenly reminded Arthur very much of Gawain. “The people were fond of my nephew. He could be charming when he wanted to be and his absence has lent him a prestige that he never could have maintained while he lived among us. At the feast tonight, let the people see their lost prince; let them be proud of his strength and bearing. But, let them understand that he has given his allegiance elsewhere. He’s not coming home. I have one child, one heir and she will rule after me.”

Arthur nodded solemnly. He was grateful that Lot asked so little. But, then because he could not resist his curiosity, he said. “Did your Bhuidseach tell you about my mission?”

‘Some kind of treasure hunt, right?” Lot shrugged indifferently. 

“Well, yes.” Arthur murmured taken aback. He knew that Merlin was learning whatever details the Bhuidseach had and as in all things magical Merlin was the one to best understand those details. Arthur could not help wondering though about what Lot thought of all this. He knew Merlin would explain as best he could but Arthur hoped that if Lot explained it might make more sense because Lot didn’t have magic either. Lot, though, seemed uninterested. “The Cup of Life.”

“The Cup of Life, hm? Yes, they might have mentioned something like that. Sorcerers do tend to enjoy theatrics. Important, is it?” Lot was clearly only being polite and Arthur’s bafflement grew.

“That is my understanding but . . . your Bhuidseach . . . they told my sorcerer they knew about the Cup’s whereabouts. I thought- I thought you might have details.” Arthur colored slightly.

Lot shook his head. “It’s a magical issue- not my concern.”

“How is it not your concern?” Arthur knew it was probably better to leave it alone but it didn’t make sense. Arthur’s excuse for being in Orkney, bringing along a possible challenger to the Lot’s heir presumptive, was that he was on a magical quest. That sounded pretty weak to Arthur and he knew it was true. But, Lot had accepted it fairly readily. Arthur presumed that was because Lot knew what was going on and judged it credible.

“I am the King. I rule this kingdom.” Lot said with dignity. “I leave the magic to the witches.”

“But surely the two cannot be wholly separate. There must be hundreds of magical issues that have implications for government.” 

“We cooperate when we need to but otherwise we do not interfere in each other’s affairs.” Lot was beginning to get offended by Arthur’s continued amazement so he added, “It has worked better than rounding up the magic folk for the fire.”

“Certainly that strategy took a high human toll.” Arthur replied flatly. He winced inwardly but the Purge’s excess was always the first place people went when looking to score easy points off Arthur or Camelot so in battles of words as in battles of swords when Arthur was hit he concealed it. 

Seeing Arthur’s face harden Lot relented. “Not that I don’t see where it wouldn’t be tempting sometimes. But, magic is a part of the world. Sorcerers have their ways, their secrets and their mysteries. They can be frustrating and withholding. Believe me, I speak from experience. I was married to one of them until the scheming minx decided she’d rather be a priestess than a queen. She left me my daughter though so I got the best of her. A word of free advice, Arthur: don’t go chasing magic quests if you have any other choice. It’s not where you belong.”

“I appreciate the insight.” Arthur could not help but be fascinated. He did not often get the chance to hear how another king viewed magic’s role in his realm. It surprised him how at ease Lot seemed to be leaving magic to itself. That strategy seemed to be working well enough for the Orkney King but it didn’t seem like a stable arrangement to Arthur. “Truthfully, I am eager to get this quest settled. I have much to do before the raiding season starts in summer.”

“Ah, yes. You are going to fight the Saxons.” Lot’s interest was roused, as it had not been by mention of the doings of magicians. “I wish you good fortune there.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “I would have less need of fortune if I had more men.”

“Well,” Lot grinned. “You see, it costs me nothing to send well wishes but supplying you with knights is rather more than I feel inclined to contribute. We have our own barbarians to the north.”

“You know, a strong league of allied knights could take on Picts as well as Saxons.”

“And when you come for the Picts, I’ll happily contribute. Meanwhile this whole experiment could easily go to hell in which case I’m better off as I am.” Lot explained amiably.

“Fair enough. But, if it doesn’t go to hell then the kingdoms that were first to join will the ones in a position to set the future agenda.” This wasn’t new ground. These points had been covered- much more circumspectly- when Arthur had sent envoys throughout Albion soliciting volunteers but Arthur was unwilling to give up the chance to follow-up face-to-face.

“I’ll have to choose my moment carefully, then.” Lot smiled and clapped Arthur on the back. He was starting to enjoy the conversation. It had been strained in the beginning and Lot was still not entirely over his earlier scare but he was more at ease now. It was flattering to dispense hard won wisdom to the younger king. Arthur might be a bit naïve but it was difficult to resist feeling a sliver of optimism as he talked to him.

“I don’t expect a full contingent of your greatest marshals. You don’t have to weaken yourself to contribute.” Arthur’s eyes danced mischief. “Maybe you have another smart assed troublemaker that you’d like taken off your hands?”

Lot guffawed and punched Arthur in the arm. “Maybe I’ll think about. Now, here let me show you this, it’s a drinking horn one of my knights took off an Irish prince about- oh, ten years ago now.”

For the next hour, Arthur admired Lot’s trophies. He listened to Lot’s stories and he couldn’t help but periodically interject because Camelot had its own share of treasures that Arthur was sure would impress Lot very much. Arthur hoped Merlin was having similar luck because when Lot finally summoned a contingent of guards to take him back to his knights Arthur was feeling almost cheerful.  
*  
After the scene in the audience chamber, Leon, Elyan, Gawain and Percival were taken into a large barracks-like room. Ten guards surrounded them on their journey, which seemed excessive to Leon before he realized that half their attention was taken up with keeping back the onlookers who crowded around. All eyes were for Gawain and the usually bold knight was all but hiding from their gaze. Leon signaled his fellow knights to move into tighter formation with Gawain in the middle. Their guards seemed grateful for this and they were able to move through the crowd more quickly.

Somewhat to Leon’s surprise, their swords were returned as they were ushered into their prison. Prison might have felt like a strong word except for the unmistakable sound of a bolt being drawn once they were inside.

Hours that felt like days crept by, until at last the sound of the bolt withdrawing from the lock broke the silence. Everyone jumped to their feet alert for danger but also eager for any break in the oppressive silence.

“Is everyone all right?” Arthur asked as the door was opened for him and he stepped into the room. His eyes roved over his knights. He nodded to himself as he saw they had their weapons and no one appeared injured.

“We’re all fine. You?” Leon demanded as he felt some of his anxiety drip away from him.

“Fine.” The door had been closed behind Arthur but Leon did not hear the bolt slide home. “Has anyone seen Merlin and Lancelot?”

There was a chorus of no’s and Arthur nodded apparently not unduly perturbed by this. 

“Arthur, what’s going on?” Percival asked. Elyan seconded the question with a vigorous nod. Gawain looked a little sullen but his eyes were alert.

“I think it’s going to be all right.” Arthur reassured. “We should be on our way first thing tomorrow.”

“Shouldn’t we leave as soon as Merlin and Lancelot get back?” Elyan asked. The last few hours had been terrible on his nerves and he wanted to get away from Orkney castle as soon as possible.

“There’s going to be a feast.” Arthur said rubbing at the skin between his brows and heading toward the table where a jug of water and several cups were arranged.

“Can’t we skip it?” Elyan urged. Leon had caught Arthur’s direction and moved ahead to pour a cup of water and hand it to the King.

“Afraid not.” Arthur nodded his thanks to Leon and drank thirstily. There was silence while Arthur finished his water then looked at his knights. Leon stood close, waiting attentively for instructions or information whichever would come. Elyan looked at Arthur with a pleading, impatient expression. Percival’s mood was impossible to guess and Gawain ducked away from Arthur’s appraising gaze. “Leon, take Percival and Elyan to check on the horses. Make sure we have supplies for tomorrow. I want to leave as early as possible in the morning.” 

“We’ve been locked in until now, Sire.”

“Not anymore.” Arthur said. “Let one of the guards out there go with you. You should be able to go where you please but don’t insist. Don’t talk about Gawain and don’t give anyone any reason to get upset with you.”

“Are you sure, Arthur?” Percival asked. He was confused and he didn’t necessarily like the idea of splitting up.

Arthur nodded his head to Percival but crooked his finger to draw Leon close enough to speak privately. “Anything I need to know?” He asked the First Knight in a whisper.

“No one has really said anything since . . .” Leon answered eyes flickering over the knights. “Gawain’s been sulking and Elyan seems a bit upset but no problems.”

“And you?” Arthur asked. He knew Leon had had his fill of secrets recently.

Leon shook his head. “We always knew something like this was going to come. Right now, I’m just glad it’s not worse.” 

Arthur smiled ruefully. Uther had been firmly against granting knighthoods to any but the noble born. A part of that had been mere prejudice but another part had been concern that it was important to know a man’s background- his family, his upbringing his personal history before he could be trusted with the safety of the kingdom. It occurred to Arthur that this latter concern might not have been altogether misplaced. In any event, he needed to have a conversation with Gawain. “Give me an hour or so.”

Leon nodded and left the room ushering Elyan and Percival ahead of him.

Arthur found a chair and slumped into it. He was tired suddenly and even though he had arranged this time he wasn’t certain what he meant to do with it. Rubbing the skin between his eyes and along the bridge of his nose, Arthur wished Merlin and Lancelot would come back now- partly so he could stop worrying about them and partly because it would delay this conversation.

“So, what’re you gonna do?” The question might have come from Arthur’s own head and he blinked a second to make sure that it hadn’t.

“What do you think I should do?” Arthur asked studying Gawain. Leon said he had been sulking.

“I didn’t do anything wrong, Arthur.” Gawain began. “I should have told you when I realized where we were but there wasn’t a lot of time and I figured- well, it’s been more than twenty years- no one will recognize me.” Arthur considered there would have been a better chance of Gawain going unrecognized if there hadn’t been such a strong family resemblance between Gawain and Lot. But, even then, people tended to remember their princes.

“You should have told me when you realized where we were.” Arthur confirmed. Gawain opened his mouth to say that he had already conceded that point and it wasn’t very chivalrous of Arthur to continue to jab him with it. Arthur was not done however. “That aside, when I made you a knight I did so explicitly without regard to your birth. The irony is a bit thick but I don’t see that I can decently complain that you haven’t been forthcoming about the specific circumstances before now.”

Gawain was silent as he chewed that statement. He hadn’t thought of it like that and he was a little annoyed that Arthur had. “But, you’re still angry.” It was a statement.

“It might be less disappointing if you hadn’t been so gleeful in your pretense but I don’t think I am truly angry.” Arthur answered a bit to his own surprise. There had been a few bad moments in the throne room and he was embarrassed to have been caught so wrong-footed with Lot but Arthur searched within himself and found no more than irritation. Arthur never had any expectation that Gawain would reveal to him the secrets of his past. They were bound by loyalty but not necessarily friendship. Assuming that the first automatically implied the second was a beginner’s mistake that Arthur hoped he was done making. 

“Your past is not my business- so long as there’s nothing in it that puts my people in danger.” Then Arthur continued. “I’m afraid I do have to ask about your future though. I told Lot you had no designs on his throne. Did I lie?”

“No.” Gawain said stiffly. He was finding it difficult not to stare at his boots. He didn’t like Arthur’s characterization of a ‘gleeful pretense’ but he wasn’t sure how to go about denying it. He didn’t feel any affinity with the noble class and thus it was clear in his own mind that he could legitimately disclaim any actual affinity. That was just logic.

Arthur nodded. “Is this . . . Are you . . . Do you intend to remain a knight of Camelot?” Arthur wanted to believe Gawain took it all seriously; knighthood, Camelot, the Round Table. He wanted to believe that all his closest knights felt genuine allegiance and that they all shared some inkling of Albion. He had asked once- gathered together in a ruined castle. He had asked and he had been answered with clear resolve, that was, all had answered with clear resolve save Gawain, who had made a joke of it. And Merlin, who had also made a joke of it, but Merlin had always been his own mystery- especially then. Perhaps Gawain had been speaking more truth than Arthur had been willing to hear that night and Gawain was just spending time as a knight until something more interesting caught his notice.

“Are you kicking me out?” Gawain’s voice was high with indignation and was that also fear?

“Not that I was aware.” Arthur was bewildered. Was Gawain afraid that Arthur intended to abandon him to Lot? Arthur could not have been more insulted if Gawain had struck him. 

“All right. Well, good then.” Gawain said a little lamely. Then he went on, angry that Arthur was forcing him to admit it, “I- I wouldn’t want you to. I like being a knight. I- It’s important to me.”

Arthur said nothing, though he was somewhat mollified by Gawain’s sheepish admission.

“If you’re not angry then why does this feel like a scolding?” Gawain asked taking in the change in Arthur’s expression.

Arthur blinked, confused again that Gawain was being so argumentative. Not that Arthur was going to mention it but he felt he was being generous. Gawain’s decision to conceal his identity and parade around as a commoner had gotten them all into trouble and it was no thanks to Gawain that it hadn’t been worse. A little humility would not have come amiss and yet the usually cheerful knight was sullen and belligerent. Arthur was on the point of telling Gawain to stop acting like a child when an idea struck him and he said softly. “I imagine it isn’t easy coming home after such a long time.”

“What would you know about something like that?” Gawain demanded frightened at the emotion that threatened to close his throat at Arthur’s words.

“Well, clearly, not a damn thing.” Arthur answered hurt that his attempt at sympathy had been rebuffed. “Sulk if you want to, Gawain. But, get it out of your system fast. We have a feast to attend in a few hours and I expect you to be gracious and humble for our host. Do you think you can manage that?”

“Yes, my Lord.” Gawain gritted the words.

“Wonderful.” Arthur acknowledged with a feral smile. The conversation was clearly over but it would have been inappropriate for either the king of Camelot or the prince of Orkney to go storming through Lot’s castle in a huff. To make the best of it Arthur turned toward the room’s small window to give them both the illusion of privacy as they wondered- each to himself- what he might have said differently.  
*  
A headache pulsed behind Merlin’s eyes as he followed Anholt blindly down the grey corridors of Lot’s castle. Lancelot walked at Merlin’s side and the sorcerer was grateful for the knight’s solid presence. His mind was a blur with the magic he had learned from the Bhuidseach and from the effort of keeping himself guarded as he learned. He had had to open himself enough so that he could follow the intricate spellwork that the Bhuidseach had promised would summon the Castle Perilous from the mist but he had not trusted Bradan, Mhiume or Anholt not to try to take advantage of his distraction. 

Merlin was eager to rejoin Arthur, leave Orkney and continue their quest but he would need rest before he felt ready to do anything fancy. As Merlin’s thoughts wandered Anholt stopped before a door and excused himself. Merlin murmured something that would have to serve as a farewell and pushed the door open with his usual disregard for ceremony.

Lancelot waited for Anholt to walk down the hall and then turn out of sight before he followed Merlin into the room. Lancelot had been gratified when Arthur told him to accompany Merlin on his visit to the Bhuidseach. It showed that he was trusted. Lancelot had always felt protective of Merlin but with Merlin’s magic known it was a bit more difficult to know what protecting him would entail. Lancelot had not known what to do during Merlin’s meeting with the Bhuidseach except to keep his eyes and ears open and watch Merlin for any signal that he was needed. It had been stressful for the knight to watch a sort of ritualized combat that he did not understand. He knew Merlin, Bradan and Mhiume had tussled during their conversation and he knew that magic had been invoked more than once but he hadn’t been able to follow exactly what had been going on. Without knowing what else to do Lancelot had concentrated specifically on Anholt. Like Lancelot, Anholt had not partaken of the bread and wine that had been offered the others. Lancelot had not known if that was significant magically or only symbolically but it drew Lancelot’s attention to the man and convinced him that he and Anholt held similar status in whatever game was being played.

“-Bhuidseach have to say?” Lancelot caught only the second half of Arthur’s question as he closed the door after him.

“I should be able to find the Castel Perilous now.” Merlin reported moving across the room to where Arthur stood fiddling with the buttons on the sleeve of his spare shirt. Frowning slightly Merlin took over the buttons. “We can leave as soon as you’re ready.”

“We won’t be leaving until tomorrow morning at the earliest. There’s a feast this evening and we are obligated to attend.” Arthur announced with a sigh.

“Does that mean things went all right with Lot?” Merlin asked taking in the disgruntled expressions of the other knights in the room.

“Oh, well. He’s being very understanding.” Arthur drawled and Elyan muttered under his breath. 

“As it turns out, Gawain is a prince.” Leon announced, taking pity on Merlin and Lancelot’s confusion.

“Heir to the Orkney throne in fact.” Percival added and it wasn’t clear if he was more annoyed or amused.

“I’m not heir to the throne.” Gawain objected. He was wearing a red tunic edged with gold that Merlin did not recall having seen before. Looking closer, all of Gawain’s clothing looked new. The knight, who was usually stylish in a casual sort of way, looked distinctly uncomfortable in his outfit.

“There’s Princess Morgaine. Then, there’s you. Did I miss someone?” Percival asked. The intent behind his words was still difficult to read.

“I’m not interested. So, I don’t count. Lot wouldn’t have me even if I’d have him and I wouldn’t.” 

“Wait . . .” Lancelot looked at Merlin to see if the other man shared his confusion. “How is Gawain a noble? I thought . . . Aren’t you always saying . . .”

“Gawain really is committed to proving all nobles are dishonest, aren’t you, your highness.” Elyan said and there was no ambiguity in the disgust permeating his tone. 

“Enough.” Arthur said firmly but not harshly. “Lot would like his nephew to attend a feast to reassure the people of his safety, success and lack of ambition. We are going to oblige him.”

“But, this just happened now, right?” Lancelot asked plaintively. After the Cailleach, and the Lady and Elaine, Lancelot was worried about his mind and his memory. It didn’t make sense that Gawain was a prince and he wanted to make sure that everyone else was as confused as he was.

“Yes, we only found out after we walked into the throne room.” Leon assured. “It was quite the shock. It still is.”

Lancelot nodded gratefully but then his eye caught Merlin’s expression and his brow furrowed. Seeing the change, Leon followed Lancelot’s gaze. “Oh for- Did you already know?” Leon threw up his hands in an uncharacteristic show of frustration. “Why am I even asking? Of course you already knew. You might have let us know, Merlin. There was no guarantee that Lot was going to be reasonable.”

“Merlin didn’t know.” Gawain cut in. “Don’t blame him. I told him in confidence that I was the son of a noble but he didn’t know the rest.”

“I said, enough.” Arthur repeated with more steel in his voice. “It’s a lot to take in. But, we are still in a precarious situation and until we’re on firmer ground we will show the world an entirely united front. Clear?” The last word was spoken with particular emphasis.

Heads bowed in varying degrees of submission and there was silence until Arthur asked, “So the Bhuidseach were helpful?”

“Yes. Very, actually.” Merlin replied. The sorcerer wished he had thought to bring a more formal set of spare clothes for Arthur. 

“Did they say why they were willing to help?”

“They said they didn’t want to deal with all the treasure hunters that would come looking if the Cup remained unclaimed.” Merlin shrugged and wondered if he had time to give his own shirt a quick scrub before the feast. “How long before the festivities start?”

“Do you believe them?”

“I think so. Do I have time for a wash?”

“Plenty. You and Lancelot aren’t expected to attend.”

“How come?” Merlin didn’t want to attend the feast. He was tired and his head still ached but . . . Well, what if he were needed.

Arthur shrugged. “Apparently in Orkney the Bhuidseach and the Court have their own sphere of responsibility and they don’t overlap much.” Merlin considered that thoughtfully. 

“If it is all right, Sire, I’d like to go to the feast anyway.” Lancelot spoke up.

“I can’t imagine it will be any fun, Lancelot. And I’d rather at least a couple of us get a good night’s sleep.”

“I feel like I’ve been doing nothing but sleep for a long time.” Lancelot said quietly. “Please, I- I’d like to keep myself occupied.”

“All right.” Arthur agreed. Then he turned to face the other men standing glumly around the room. “Elyan, if you’d rather skip the feast Lancelot will make up the number.”

“Yes, please.” Elyan’s eyes lit up almost comically as he tossed the cloth he had been using to try and force a shine onto his boots to Lancelot.  
*  
The narrow bed was comfortable enough. The mattress of fresh straw might be small but it was preferable to the expansive ground. Even so, Elyan found it difficult to relax. While Elyan was thrilled to have been let out of the grand feast in honor of Prince Gawain he now found himself at loose ends. 

At first, Elyan was pleased that he would spend the evening in Merlin’s company. He liked the sorcerer very much. But, the two of them had never really had a chance to get to know one another apart from a group. So, the opportunity to have a private discussion with someone he admired had been welcome. Elyan felt he needed to talk. His mind was overfull. Too much had happened since he had set out from Camelot- had it only been yesterday? It depended on how one counted.

Rather surprisingly, Elyan had been able to take the return of Lancelot with something approaching calm. The first returning Lancelot had been Morgana’s conjuration. When that had happened, Elyan had found it convenient to lay all the heartache of that episode at Lancelot’s feet. Though he now knew of Morgana’s magical involvement and that that Lancelot had not really been Lancelot, it still seemed like Elyan ought to disapprove of any version of Lancelot- just to be safe. 

Somehow though, Elyan could not disapprove. Lancelot appeared so overwhelmed and befuddled and lost that Elyan could not wish him any ill. That didn’t mean that Elyan was completely untroubled by the strange turn of events but before he had had a chance to sort out the possible implications of Lancelot’s return, Arthur disappeared. Until that had been resolved Elyan could think of nothing else. Then, immediately after that he had the excitement of a new quest to distract him.

Now, instead of getting on with the quest for the Cup of Life they were stuck spending the night in Orkney because of Gawain- Prince Gawain. For the past few hours Elyan had wanted nothing so much as to punch the common-noble-common knight in the face. But, he had recognized the folly of that in the circumstances so he had been snippy instead which hadn’t really made him feel better. 

Elyan had thought he and Gawain were better friends. He had thought they had so much in common. Elyan had thought Gawain understood what it was like to be overlooked, ignored, held down. More importantly Elyan had thought Gawain could genuinely commiserate about how sometimes the memory of that treatment could gnaw at you. Of course, Gawain had been treated like a commoner for many years so in some ways he did understand but then Gawain had had a choice about how he was treated and Elyan hadn’t and that made all the difference. 

Even so, Elayn found that he had already mostly forgiven Gawain. He wasn’t angry but he was feeling a little lonely and would have liked to be able to talk it all through. He would have liked to talk it all through with Merlin because Merlin was wise and talking things through with Merlin was what Arthur- and sometimes Gwen- did to feel better. Elyan also just liked the idea of sharing a serious talk with the sorcerer. It felt like seeking counsel with someone like Merlin was a very adult and knightly thing to do. The importance of adult and knightly things had taken on a new significance over the past few months for Elyan as he considered the knightly and adult course of action for keeping the favor of a particular young lady he had been spending time with. 

But, now that the chance to talk with Merlin had come, Elyan found himself reluctant. The fact that Merlin had known about Gawain’s nobility tamped his willingness to bring it up. Elyan wasn’t angry with Merlin. He wasn’t even angry with Gawain anymore. He just suddenly found that he didn’t want to talk about Gawain with Merlin. On the heels of that Elyan remembered that Lancelot had known about Merlin’s magic before anyone else and that somehow made Elyan reluctant to talk with Merlin about Lancelot. So, thoughts still jumbled, Elyan made stilted conversation for a while before pleading fatigue and saying good night. He chose the bed nearest the wall and lay down.

Sighing, Elyan turned to watch Merlin where he sat at the foot of the bed nearest the door and looked out into space. He still had possession of Excalibur, as Arthur had not seen fit to take the weapon to a feast. Merlin held the sword with the point against the stone floor. Once in a while he gave it a little spin in one direction or another. Elyan watched the metal gleam like quicksilver in the flickering flames. Excalibur. Elyan thought of his father and his eyes filled with unexpected and most unwelcome tears. 

Excalibur, his father’s greatest work, Elyan had recognized the blade. He had- despite the changes wrought by magics of fire, water and earth. He had meant to ask Gwen about the sword but other things always came up and he never seemed to get around to it. 

In the end, it was Arthur who, one day not many months ago, had noticed Elyan’s fascination with the weapon. The king had taken him aside then and told him Excalibur’s story. Arthur confirmed that the sword was indeed the work of Tom the Blacksmith. Elyan had known this but hearing it said made it real in a way it had not been before. Gwen had taken the sword and given it to Merlin so that Arthur could kill an enemy that could not be slain by mundane means. 

Merlin had then taken the sword to the Great Dragon who had burnished it in flame and imbued it with extraordinary lethal magic. Something had gone wrong though and the sword that had been meant for Arthur had been used by Uther. Arthur had explained this as though he were repeating what had been explained to him. He seemed not to understand why it was so important that Uther not use the sword.

Elyan understood and for a few moments he had felt anger kindle in him. He suppressed it though. He did not hate Uther. He did not really think about Uther. In part he did not think about Uther because there was a chance that thinking about him would lead to hating him. Regardless of personal issues Elyan shared the general opinion of Camelot that whatever else he might have been Uther had been their rightful king and was entitled to the respect and deference owed thereto. Elyan saw no advantage in stirring up his animosity against a dead man.

Arthur had gone on to explain that the sword had been hidden after that- guarded in the sacred water of Avalon by the Lady of Lake of all people. Merlin had had to retrieve Excalibur from the Lady though, when Morgana and Morgause brought their undead army into Camelot. Excalibur had defeated the Cup of Life. Elyan knew he had no cause to feel special pride at that fact but he did.

After the Cup, the sword was driven deep into the earth where it remained until Merlin’s magic released it. This last bit Elyan already knew. The story of how Arthur had pulled the sword from stone had spread and become so well known that nearly all of Camelot claimed to have witnessed the event. Elyan had seen no contradiction in the way Arthur had told the story: Merlin’s magic had released the sword as a means of getting the blade to him without having to really answer questions about its provenance and as a boost of confidence, and the more conventional story that Arthur had claimed a magic sword as yet another piece of evidence that he was the rightful King.

It hadn’t been until they were on their way to the Lady of the Lake that Elyan had realized that Arthur was ashamed of how he had acquired Excalibur. His explanation to Elyan had been intended as something like an apology. While the sword was precious to Arthur- it was Gwen and Merlin’s gift- he did not believe he had earned it. This was so utterly incongruous to Elyan that he had been too flummoxed to say anything at the time. He had puzzled over the situation but the Lady of the Lake’s quest drove thoughts of Excalibur from his mind. Now, seeing the blade spin in Merlin’s hand, Elyan was reminded of it all.

It was a mild night but Elyan drew his blanket tightly around himself and tucked his head into his chest. He didn’t know why he should be so sad when, really, nothing was very seriously wrong. He would talk to Gwen, he resolved. He would tell her about Gawain and about the sword and he would feel better. Elyan grimaced though as he realized he wasn’t going to talk to Gwen about Lancelot. He was as close as he had ever been with his sister but Elyan knew that he would not ever really talk to her about Lancelot. This realization plunged Elyan into deeper loneliness. But, after only a few minutes, he shook his head as though to physically free himself from sadness.

Everything was all right. Elyan had no idea how he had become so maudlin. It wasn’t like him. He just needed to sleep it off- maybe he wouldn’t even talk to Gwen about Gawain. He wasn’t some gossipy old woman. Tossing himself over onto his other side he closed his eyes. He would feel better in the morning.  
*  
The sky was so overcast it was difficult to find the sun. It was as well then that whatever path Merlin was following did not rely on any usual notion of direction. The party from Camelot was retracing their steps from the day before as Merlin led them haltingly to where the pull of magic the Bhuidseach had taught him to recognize drew him. He made several false starts and with each change of direction he expected a comment but no one said anything. Somehow the knights’ silent patient, attention made him feel more self-conscious than if they had been making catcalls. 

“Here.” Merlin finally announced as he stared ahead at a stretch of land that looked to Arthur like a dozen other stretches of land they had passed in the last hour. “I think.”

“How long is this going to take?” Arthur slid down from his horse still vainly studying the ground ahead for anything that could be considered distinguishing.

“I don’t know. A couple hours? More if you all stare at me.”

“No one stare at Merlin.” Arthur ordered the knights with amusement.

“Thanks, I feel much more comfortable.” Merlin sniped. 

Arthur grinned at Merlin’s self-consciousness but he gave the man the privacy he needed turning his attention to the knights. The men had been unusually quiet this morning. Arthur attributed this to the overwhelming nature of recent events combined with a reluctance to distract Merlin but he wanted to keep them occupied as much as possible. He sent Gawain and Elyan to look for water- purposefully pairing the two men.

The feast the night before had gone well. Gawain was naturally charming and- when he put some effort in- he was capable of at least a pretense of grace and humility. This did not surprise Arthur but he still felt a soft glow of pride that Gawain had managed so well. Coupled with pride, however, Arthur also felt some frustration that Gawain didn’t put in the effort more often. Arthur had experienced a little worry because his own discussion with the knight before the feast had not gone especially well. But, the King was pleased to see that that had not spilled over into dinner. 

Arthur’s mind was now turned to the practical implications of Gawain’s newfound nobility. Personally he felt that all that needed to be said between them had been said. It had not been the discussion Arthur would have liked to have had with the knight but he and Gawain rubbed each other the wrong way sometimes. Arthur did not explore the potential reasons for this. His concern now was to smooth over the incident for the rest of the knights so that they could maintain that cohesion and camaraderie which together with their battle prowess made them so often Arthur’s companions of choice

To that end, Arthur considered his men. Leon wasn’t a problem. He had already told Arthur that he almost expected some secret in Gawain’s past and of all the possibilities this one seemed rather harmless. Lancelot was not in a state to criticize anyone for keeping secrets. Beyond that Arthur somehow had the idea that- like himself- Lancelot didn’t really expect Gawain to confide in him and was thus unmoved to find that Gawain had not confided. Merlin had already known enough of Gawain’s secret that he had no cause to be angry. 

That left Percival and Elyan. Even if Leon hadn’t queued him to it, Arthur would have picked up on Elyan’s disappointment. Elyan was the youngest of them and he admired Gawain very much. His hurt was commensurate with his admiration. So Arthur reasoned it was best to give Gawain and Elyan some time together and leave them to it.

Leon and Lancelot were tasked with keeping a (non-staring) eye on Merlin and looking after the horses. That left Arthur with Percival. The two went on a reconnoiter of their own in the opposite direction of Elyan and Gawain. Of all his knights Arthur found it most difficult to get a read on Percival. The big man was quiet and seemed to take everything in his stride. Arthur could not remember having ever seen him genuinely out of temper with anyone. That was not to say that Percival was unobservant or that he lacked depth it just meant that it could be difficult to know what he was thinking.

Arthur and Percival moved quickly, finding the higher ground and surveying the nearby marshlands. Arthur spent the first few minutes of that time wondering what to say or even if he should say anything. Finally, the two came to a stop at the crest of a small hill to look out over the landscape. Arthur searched for Merlin and found him standing still in the middle of the field where they had left him. He watched the sorcerer for several minutes then took a deep breath and turned to his companion.

“Are you all right, Percival?” 

Percival turned toward him and seemed to consider the question carefully. After a moment he nodded. “I’m all right, Arthur. You?”

Arthur gave the question the same deliberation. “Good.”

Percival smiled then and Arthur did the same as he clapped a hand to Percival’s back.

“We should get back.” Arthur’s eyes wandered to Merlin of their own accord. “But, if Merlin is still working on the castle, how about a quick match?”

Percival grinned his enthusiasm for this plan and the two left the ridge at a ready pace.  
*  
“Careful! That will sting.” Gawain called out his warning and Elyan just managed to sidestep a nettle plant that had been lying in wait among the tall grasses. He nodded his thanks.

“They are all over around here.” Gawain went on filling the silence. “They always sting but some people take it worse than others. I saw a man once swell up like a frog after a long walk out here.”

“Chrysanthemums give Gwen a rash but I’ve never known anyone else who was bothered.” Elyan said almost reluctantly. “She ought to leave them alone but she says they’re too beautiful so she wears gloves and washes her hands a lot.”

They walked for a while. Gawain ate the tops of several bulrushes and Elyan kept his eyes fixed on the sneaky undergrowth.

“So you grew up here?” Elyan asked as Gawain popped another of the narrow leaf shoots into his mouth.

“Yeah,” Gawain answered chewing. “I remember the apples here are so good. There’s fresh salmon and hazelnuts. But at the castle everything somehow tasted of hollyhock and fennel.”

“Is that why you left?” Elyan asked lightly.

“It didn’t help. My father was Lot’s elder brother but he got himself killed in someone else’s war- he needed to prove himself, I suppose. Orkney’s King needed to be known as a warrior who stood by his allies. My grandfather died soon after that. Morgaine had not been born then and Lot had no other child. As you can imagine the new king had mixed feeling about his presumptive heir. My mother probably didn’t help. She had so narrowly missed being a queen but without my father she had no protection and no real rank. She was ambitious for me.”

“It is a long story.” Gawain sighed. “I will tell you all of it if you want but maybe later when we can get drunk. It was so long ago. I’m not the man I was then.”

Elyan broke off the top of a nearby bulrush. He had seen the plant before but he’d never eaten it. Tentatively he took a bite. It was starchier than he expected but not bad. As he ate Elyan considered that he was not the same man he had been when he left home either and yet somehow the new Elyan had still had to answer for the hurt his former self had caused. 

Occasionally, he still felt as though he were climbing out from under his sister’s disappointment. Leon had known the story too. He’d never said anything about it but the whole little scandal had to be prominent in the knight’s conception of the younger man. Then there was Arthur . . . Elyan had been more or less introduced to Arthur with the characteristics he would have most liked to have lived down: ‘Hello, Sire. I’m Elyan, the burdensome younger brother of your intended. Please don’t be discouraged though. There’s always got to be some baggage, right? And I certainly don’t plan on putting you or Gwen in mortal danger every week.’ Elyan shuddered. 

Elyan hadn’t met Gawain though until that was all somewhat in the past. He’d had something like a fresh start with Gawain. Elyan thought about it and decided he was willing to return the favor. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I know the general story. I don’t need the details. You never asked me for details about why I left home.”

Gawain nodded. He felt the tightness in his chest loosen. “We’ll still get drunk though?”

“Oh, absolutely.” Elyan laughed and picked another bulrush.

With the enthusiasm of a connoisseur Gawain began to lay out the pros and cons of the various potential routes to drunkenness. It was a voluminous subject with many worthy schools of thought and so he was still expounding as the two men came back into sight of their companions.

As he had been when they left, Merlin was standing still, gazing out into the middle distance. Elyan and Gawain gave him a wide berth not wanting to interfere or distract him in any way. Arthur and Percival were sparring. It struck Gawain as he watched them that they were playing more than practicing. Arthur might have felt obligated to dispute that description but he would have had to wipe the huge grin off his face first. 

Arthur and Percival had put aside swords and cloaks and were grappling in the grass. The fact that the match was still going on was evidence that Percival was handicapping himself in some way to compensate for his greater weight. Arthur was a good wrestler but that was not going to overcome Percival’s fifty-some pound weight advantage. 

Gawain grew thoughtful as he watched Arthur and Percival tussle back and forth. He wanted to warn Percival not to hold back too much. The heavier man probably felt invincible in this kind of match but Arthur was strong and Gawain knew from experience that if Arthur were allowed to achieve a dominant position it was impossible to get out from under him. On the point of volunteering his advice, Gawain was distracted by Elyan who directed his attention to Lancelot.

Lancelot had been watching Arthur and Percival wrestle wistfully and when he saw that Gawain and Elyan had returned his eyes lit with anticipation. “Gawain! Care for a bout?”

Gawain gave a wave and a nod but said sotto voce to Elyan, “He’s going to kick my ass, isn’t he.”

“Lancelot’s not even annoyed with you.” Elyan responded in a tone that tried to be sympathetic. “He just wants the exercise.”

And the camaraderie, Gawain thought with a flash of compassion. “It wouldn’t be so bad but he’s going to be polite about it. Why does he have to be polite about it?”

“Don’t sell yourself short. Maybe you’ll win.” Elyan snickered. “After all, you’re not hung over and that’s the only reason Arthur is ever able to beat you, right?”

“The only reason.” Gawain affirmed then walked away from Elyan to where Lancelot was – very politely – waiting to begin.

Chuckling Elyan made his way to Leon. The first knight had found a place where he could keep everyone in view at once. He smiled as Elyan settled beside him Elyan took a bite of one of the bulrushes he had collected on his walk and offered Leon another.  
*


	8. Chapter 8

It took a while but Merlin was eventually able to let his awareness of the knights sink from his mind. As he did so he thought over the spell that would draw the Castle Perilous from the mists of a purely magic realm into this one. The Bhuidseach had shown him what to do. He knew he had the power for it but he was strangely reluctant and he feared his magic would react to his reluctance and make his task all the more difficult. The Cailleach had told them that her four treasures would allow Arthur to deal on an equal footing with the great magical creatures and fix something askew in the land’s magic. Yet Merlin wasn’t entirely convinced there was anything wrong with magic at all or that the treasures she described would mean what she claimed they would to magickind. 

In any case, Merlin didn’t know how he really felt about inviting the ancient magic creatures to be a part of Albion. Not that he wanted to exclude them- not that. But, why seek them out? Why engage with powers that no one truly understood and which- aside from the occasional bit of mischief- mostly kept to themselves? Wasn’t that just asking for trouble? 

For many years Merlin had yearned for the day when magic would return to Camelot and thence to Albion. As it turned out, the vision for which he pined lacked more depth than he had realized. What he had wanted more than anything was an end to the oppressive and pervasive fear and helplessness that afflicted men and women with magic- and men and women without magic too for that matter. Mostly what Merlin imagined in his daydreams was working his magical protection in the open and no one getting burned alive. 

If he were in a mood for details, Merlin might also have imagined having some people around who were knowledgeable about magic and who could give him some pointers. He could envision livelier fairs and markets. He saw a world very similar to the one in which he lived, only he would have some recognition and respect, he wouldn’t have to worry about keeping secrets and there would be a few more opportunities for fun. That was largely the extent of it. That would more than satisfy his ambitions.

Merlin now found himself in the incredibly awkward situation of having worked to bring about changes to his world that might have repercussions he had not anticipated and that he might not always approve of. Even so in this instance, Merlin didn’t really have a choice but to forge ahead. Someone else would come for the Cup if he did not seek it out and as much as Merlin did not want the burden of the Cup’s protection, better it be in Camelot’s care, better it be used in Arthur’s service than fall to someone else. 

The hair at the nape of his neck stirred, as though in a wind but there was no wind. Power was gathering. Merlin felt a parting. It was like the time Merlin had had been scrubbing plates all day and his hands were wrinkled from the warm water. A plate had slipped from his hand and shattered. Cursing he’d bent to pick it up and he’d cut himself. He had cut himself but there was no pain- only this feeling of the seams of his flesh separating. It wasn’t a big cut- nothing to require stitches- but that feeling; that separation without pain had scared him somehow. This was how the world felt now like it was being cut open but the hurt that ought naturally to attend such a wounding was absent. The brutal rending of the world that had preceded the invasion of the Dorocha had been less frightening than this because the very violence of it had been a distraction. It had taken Merlin’s mind from the awareness of the world’s tearing. 

He saw the castle now- not with his eyes but he knew where it was and he drew it toward him with his magic, the same way he would use a rope to pull a boat to shore. With a final tug, Merlin felt the castle settle onto this world. There was a last gentle sway and then the castle was firmly placed. Merlin had not been aware he had closed his eyes but he opened them now. The Castle Perilous stood before him immense and forbidding.

“Merlin?” A hand fell onto Merlin’s shoulder.

“Well, there it is.” Merlin blew his breath out and laughed a little. He smiled weakly as he turned to face Arthur but as he turned a tremor suddenly ran through him. Vision still cloudy with fey light, Merlin took in Arthur’s image as a physical sensation. Such strength of feeling welled up in Merlin. Another tremor passed through him and he thought he might stumble; fall to his knees. Yes, that would be easier, that would help tame the intensity of emotion that hollowed his belly and set him aching. Arthur was so beautiful. He was so . . ..

“Are you all right, Merlin?” The weight of Arthur’s hands on Merlin’s shoulders pushed back the strange tide of emotion. Merlin closed his eyes as though to banish a sudden dizziness. When he opened them again he saw Arthur’s concerned gaze focused on him. He was still beautiful. He was still . . . but Merlin could think again.

“Fine.” Merlin said as cheerfully as he could manage. Then his brow furrowed, “Why do you have grass in your hair?” 

Arthur ignored the question as he studied the vast stone structure. The castle had materialized fifteen yards in front of them. At that distance it was difficult to take in everything. Arthur took a cautious step backward but realized he would need more space to properly see the castle. Merlin followed him swiping at the few stalks of grass that clung to Arthur’s hair and clothes.

The castle possessed four turrets, one at each corner of its square structure. The turrets jutted high into the air. Spires pierced the sky as the walls bludgeoned the earth. The masonry fit together almost seamlessly. No windows interrupted the vast expanse of stone. Indeed the only interruption in the castle’s façade seemed to be the iron studded gate that Arthur and the knights now faced.

“How do we get in?” Gawain asked but his voice sounded as though he was not altogether certain he wanted an answer.

“We could knock?” Elyan volunteered. “Announce ourselves and our intentions?”

Arthur looked to Merlin and the sorcerer shrugged, ‘why not?’. Without a better idea Arthur took a step forward. But, a man appeared in front of the gate before Arthur had time to say anything. In the moment the man appeared it seemed as though he had always been there and Merlin admired the smoothness of the transition.

Arthur and the knights responded to the sudden appearance by placing hands on sword hilts though no one drew. With his left hand, Arthur caught Merlin’s sleeve and tugged the younger man as though he wanted Merlin to move behind him. Merlin did move closer to Arthur but he resisted the pull that would have put Arthur in front of him. Arthur turned toward him and blinked. The King had not even realized what he was doing until Merlin’s resistance drew his attention to it. Now, his mouth thinned into a hard line but he let Merlin go. The interaction lasted less than a second but Merlin found himself both exasperated and pleased by it.

“Welcome heroes, knights, champions.” The voice was not loud but it carried well.

The aforementioned shifted uneasily taking in the newcomer. The figure stood tall but he was clearly old, his hair snowy white and his face creased with age. The man took several steps toward the group from Camelot and as he did so it became obvious that he bore some sort of injury. He moved stiffly, favoring his right side. 

As an almost automatic courtesy Arthur moved forward also so that the old man would not be obliged to come all the way to him in order to converse. “Thank you for your welcome. I am Arthur Pendragon. My men and I have come here to seek the Cup of Life. Can you help us?”

Merlin wished Arthur didn’t feel compelled to immediately introduce himself to everyone they met. He didn’t have to conceal his identity but the cautious thing was to wait until they had learned as much as they could about someone else before bringing names into it. Merlin’s annoyance with Arthur was in the background of his consciousness, though. There was a more pressing matter at the forefront of his thoughts.

“Arthur, that’s-“ Merlin started to whisper but then he cleared his throat and addressed the man who was now less than fifteen feet away. “Are you- You are the Fisher King, are you not?” The idea was sufficiently absurd that Merlin felt obliged to make a question of it but he was pretty sure. This man looked younger and healthier than the Fisher King Merlin had met but the resemblance was perfect otherwise.

“I am.” The Fisher King agreed readily inclining his head to Merlin. “Lord Merlin and I have met before and he had occasion to do me a great service at that time.” The Fisher King raised his wrist. The loose sleeve of his robe fell back revealing the phoenix eye bracelet.

“But didn’t you die?” Merlin’s eyes switched from the bracelet to the Fisher King’s face to the bracelet and back again. 

The Fisher King chuckled but Merlin could feel Arthur’s glower. This didn’t seem fair to Merlin because he didn’t think there was a polite way to ask that question and the question needed to be asked.

“So I did. And So I was reborn. You released me from my long and lonely vigil overseeing the wasteland and I became the guardian of the Castle Perilous. I was changed and yet I also remain the same. I will always be grateful to you, Merlin, for making that change possible.”

“I am glad if I was able to help you.” Merlin felt the familiar reticence rise in him whenever his past deeds were brought up for praise but he was able to resist the urge to duck his head and shuffle his feet. “But, you more than repaid me.”

The weight of many gazes settled on Merlin and again he fought back the urge to look at his feet. “But, um, if you could help us find the Cup of Life then I would appreciate it.”

“Alas, Lord Merlin, King Arthur, Sir Gawain, the three of you may not enter the Castle Perilous to seek the Cup.”

“Why so, Sir King?” Arthur’s tone was cool but scrupulously polite. It was the tone he had used in court whenever Uther said something to him he interpreted as criticism. 

“The three of you have already achieved the Cup. You have already had your quest.”

“But, what of those who have not quested for the Cup before?” Lancelot demanded eagerly.

“You, Sir Lancelot, Sir Percival, Sir Elyan and Sir Leon are welcome to try yourself against the Castle. But, Sir Lancelot, I would ask your indulgence to speak on a different matter.

Lancelot looked nervous at this but he nodded his acquiescence. 

“It has been long and long since I walked this world as a mortal man.” The Fisher King’s voice grew soft under the weight of time. “Yet, I still remember . . . something of what I once was.”

“Take this,” The Fisher King withdrew a ring studded with red and white gems- rubies and diamonds as they looked to Lancelot’s untutored eye. “And give it to your son when he comes of age as a token of his mother’s house.”

“I will.” Lancelot promised though he was visibly hesitant as he walked up to the Fisher King and allowed him to place the ring onto his palm.

“Come now if you wish.” The Fisher King invited stepping aside and gesturing toward the gate that, as he spoke, began to open.

“Wait!” Arthur commanded harshly. “Sir Lancelot, I would speak with you.”

Lancelot hastened back to his king, “Sire,” Lancelot and Leon spoke nearly at the same time. Lancelot yielded precedence. “Shouldn’t we take this chance for me, Lancelot, Elyan and Percival to look for the Cup?”

“I don’t like the four of you going without magical protection. It seems very suspicious that Merlin isn’t allowed to go with you.” 

“It sounds as though finding the Cup in the Castle is going to be some kind of test.” Elyan said. “If it is a test then it stands to reason that it should at least be possible for us to succeed.”

“Certainly that would be characteristic of a fair test.” Arthur was angry, angrier than he had a justification for.

Leon shrugged. This was what they had come here for and if there were risks then Leon would rather they fall on the knights. “We always anticipated that there would be some danger. Circumstances haven’t changed except that it turns out the fellow running the test is friends with Merlin. Lancelot’s even a son-in-law. That’s to our advantage?”

“I wouldn’t say we’re friends exactly.” Merlin murmured. He didn’t like being barred entry into the Castle but he didn’t think that it was necessarily sinister. 

While they had been talking Lancelot had pulled free the lacing of his shirt, strung the Fisher King’s ring on the cord then tied it around his neck. Lancelot’s face was a mask of determination. “Please, let us do this, Sire.”

“I don’t like this. It’s not a game.” Arthur felt with sudden keenness that this wasn’t worth it. Bragging rights with the Cailleach, the Cup’s magic, it wasn’t worth the risk to his men. He took a step forward and raised his voice to address the Fisher King. “The Cup of Life is in your possession. I ask that you give it into my care. I do not intend to call upon its power- save perhaps for healings that cause no harm to others. I will guard it against anyone who would use it to cause harm or take lives. If you have reservations about giving the Cup to me let’s discuss them and I will do my best to answer your concerns.”

“It cannot be, King Arthur. The Cup must be won.”

“Won how?” Arthur took another step forward. “What will the quest within your castle prove that you don’t already know? What are you going to ask my men to do that will demonstrate to you that we are worthy of the Cup?”

The Fisher King met Arthur’s gaze steadily but he did not answer his questions.

“Arthur,” Merlin put a hand on Arthur’s arm and spoke softly. “This is just how it is.”

“Please, Sire.” Lancelot said and Arthur felt the knight’s desire to prove himself like a physical force. Carefully Arthur studied the faces of his other knights. Elyan, Leon and Percival returned his gaze with resolution. They did not have Lancelot’s desperate need but they were ready, willing.

“Don’t risk your life for it.” Arthur said bowing to the inevitable. “If whatever task is required of you is impossible then refuse it. We’ll find another way. Or, we’ll leave the damn thing here.” The Cup was dangerous but as long as the Cup remained in the Castle then it needn’t be an immediate concern. 

Leon, Percival and Elyan nodded or murmured their agreement.

“Lancelot?” 

The sound of his name startled Lancelot and it seemed to take him an effort to gather his attention. “Arthur?”

“If you don’t promise then you don’t go.” Arthur said crossing his arms over his chest.

Lancelot nodded.

“Say it.”

“I promise I will not attempt the impossible.”

“Or?”

“Sire, I promise I will not attempt the impossible or . . . or risk my life if I can avoid it.” The reluctance in Lancelot’s words was obvious but he spoke them. Arthur waited a few more seconds trying to draw any remaining resistance from Lancelot with his eyes. Finally, the King nodded and Lancelot all but ran for the open gate. Elyan got caught up in his eagerness and matched his pace. Percival and Leon followed more sedately. Once the last knight was through the gate it closed as quietly as it had opened.

“Um, Pardon me?” 

Arthur had been staring at the closed gate but Merlin’s voice refocused his attention. To Arthur’s surprise, the Fisher King had not disappeared. “Could I ask a question?”

“I expected that you would have at least one.” The Fisher King’s smile radiated benevolence. 

“Rhongomynyad, the Spear of Truth, I have been told that you always kept it with you. Do you know what became of it?”

“Ah, the Spear. It was both the source of my great wound and the source of my longevity. I kept it with me all my life and I might have kept it with me through my resurrection save that it was claimed by another.” There was a twinkle in his eye as the Fisher King spoke, as though he and Merlin were playing a game.

“Ha! It was the trident wasn’t it?” Gawain who had been uncharacteristically silent and attentive since the appearance of the Fisher King suddenly burst out laughing. “Oh, that’s rich.”

“Rhongomynyad was your trident?” Merlin asked needing to clarify. “But, you told me . . .” The Fisher King had said that the trident was not the real prize of the quest. He had dropped it to the ground as though it were of no importance.

“I told you what you needed to know at the time. The trident was not the proper object of your quest that day, Merlin. It was for Arthur to claim and there were reasons why it was better if you did not give the trident much attention.” The Fisher King met Merlin’s steady gaze without any hint of embarrassment or guile. “I did not lie to you.”

Merlin thought that was debatable. He also thought that having the debate might not be in their best interests at the moment. The Fisher King’s gift had helped at a critical time and not knowing about the Trident probably hadn’t done him any harm. Merlin preferred to be the one to decide what was important for him to know and what was not but his pride would not let him cast stones in that direction when Arthur was present.

After a moment the Fisher King turned to Arthur. “Whether they succeed or fail your knights will leave the Castle Perilous at dawn tomorrow.”

“I thank you for your courtesy.”

“Chance and fate dance together on a knife’s edge. Magic couples with nature to bear our future. Destiny races time to what end I cannot see. Arthur Pendragon, I am glad we met and Merlin, I am glad we met again. Fare you well.” The Fisher King disappeared without so much as rippling the air.

“It was nice meeting you too.” Gawain sang out to the vacancy that had previously held the Fisher King. Merlin smacked Gawain’s arm but he also giggled helplessly for a few seconds.

Arthur, Merlin and Gawain retreated to the shelter of a nearby copse. Arthur fell against a tree and sank down to the earth. He let his head fall into his hands. The last few days- the last few weeks had taken up most of his reserves. This last encounter left him feeling a little punch drunk and he was not the only one if the way both Merlin and Gawain let themselves sprawl over the forest floor was any measure.

“You used to do this sort of thing by yourself.” Arthur spoke as much to himself as Merlin. Reaching out, the King grabbed a hold of Merlin’s collar and dragged him closer until he had the sorcerer leaning beside him against the same tree. Merlin flailed a bit as he found himself suddenly moved but he made no resistance. Arthur was experiencing a new respect for Merlin inextricably mixed with an almost irresistible urge to smack the younger man repeatedly. Arthur settled for gently shaking him by the collar twice then letting his hand rest protectively on the back of Merlin’s neck.

“It all goes from dangerous to ridiculous to dangerous and back again so fast it makes my head spin.” Gawain sighed resting his forearms on his knees. “But that’s life all over, isn’t it.”

“That’s your life all over.” Merlin observed.

“When the Fisher King said ‘Chance and fate dance together on a knife’s edge.’ I was sure you were going to laugh out loud.” Arthur confided.

“I wanted to.” Gawain replied leaning forward earnestly. “I really, really wanted to. But, you know, Sire, I have self-control.” All three men chuckled at this.

“It’s still ridiculous, though.” Gawain said after a while. “We’re suddenly told there are four great treasures and that we’d better find them sooner rather than later or else. But we don’t even have time to properly worry about finding them when it turns out we’ve already got three of the four just lying around.”

“I ought to have seen it.” Merlin said ruefully. He was aware of the pressure of Arthur’s hand against his neck and he delegated a portion of his attention to maintaining his awareness of it. “I can see why I didn’t see the Table. No one expects a magic table but the Trident . . .” The Fisher King had arranged to get Merlin alone and then he had told him how very important Merlin was and, by the way, pay no attention to the object of Arthur’s vision quest- nothing to see here. Never mind that if Arthur Pendragon ended up having a dream of a quest then that was probably significant enough on its own to warrant serious investigation. But Merlin hadn’t questioned it. He had taken the vial of water and looked no further. “I must walk past that thing a dozen times a day in the Great Hall.”

“Oh, the trident hasn’t been in the Great Hall for what? Months now? A year?” Gawain tugged at his ear as he tried to remember. He had always noticed the trident whenever he walked by it. It was a reminder of the adventure he and Arthur and Merlin had shared to get it. He had been sad when he realized it was gone but he didn’t feel like he could question its disappearance because he couldn’t come up with a good enough reason to explain why he might notice let alone care.

“What? You mean it’s missing?” Merlin felt sudden panic surge in his belly. If the Spear of Truth had been lost or stolen right out from under his nose . . . “Morgana, maybe she saw it and recognized it? Oh, if she has it or someone like her . . .”

“Morgana doesn’t have the trident.” 

“How can you be sure?” Merlin’s agitation was growing. “She wouldn’t even need to recognize it. She might take it just because it’s yours.”

“She doesn’t have it.” Arthur repeated. “It’s in the vaults- safe and sound.”

Relief flowed through Merlin but his residual agitation resolved into annoyance. “Are you sure? How do you know?”

“I’m sure. And I know because I had it moved there.”

“Well, why did you move it?” Merlin demanded. “You never pay attention to that sort of thing?” Merlin was just following the flow of his irritation. He didn’t care why the trident had been moved as long as it was safe. At least he didn’t care until he saw that Arthur’s face had gone deliberately blank when he asked. Arthur shrugged as though to say it wasn’t important but it was too late.

“Why did you have it moved?” Merlin asked gently now. Arthur shrugged again. “Arthur?”

“I wasn’t proud of it.”

“What?”

“I moved it because I wasn’t proud of it. I didn’t want to display it in the Great Hall.” Arthur repeated and then added another shrug to try to communicate that it wasn’t important and he didn’t want to talk about it.

“Why?”

“Oh, you know why, Merlin.” Arthur said tiredly. He moved his hand from Merlin’s neck so that he could rub at his forehead. “It was supposed to be my quest- something I accomplished by myself. That was what people expected of me. Even- even if there hadn’t been your magic, I still broke the rules. I should never have let the thing be hung up in the first place. But, before I knew about the magic, I guess I was just able to make excuses more easily.”

“Arthur . . .” Merlin trailed off. This was a new round in an old discussion but now was not the time. Merlin closed his eyes. It was so frustrating. He understood to some extent why Arthur was prey to this sort of thinking. In retrospect Merlin could see where Arthur might have felt a bit manipulated, maybe insignificant but that was just the completely wrong way to look at it. Arthur was always the most important person in the room as far as Merlin was concerned. It wasn’t just that Merlin had been trying to protect Arthur- though protecting Arthur was an instinctive drive as powerful as thirst- Merlin was trying to shape the world in accordance with what Arthur wanted. There was never any point where Arthur didn’t matter.

“Arthur?” Gawain spoke into the silence and Merlin shot him a quelling look. Gawain was a beloved friend. He was a knight and companion. He was about as close to Merlin, and to Arthur too, as it was possible to be and yet there were things between Arthur and Merlin that were for them alone. There were places no one else could tread- not Gawain, not Leon, not even Gwen.

“You don’t get to have an opinion on this, Gawain.” Arthur said mildly. He said it in a tone that Gawain could accept as light banter if he wished and thus not take offense but it was absolutely intended to shut Gawain down.

“All right. Fair enough.” Gawain conceded. He knew he had been warned to leave it alone and he recognized there was some danger in going on although he could not have said what the danger was precisely. But, “If I did get to have an opinion though then it would be that I’m proud of it- the trident. My part in helping- small though it was.”

“But it’s cheating, Gawain. I wasn’t supposed to have any help.”

Pfft. “People are always going to help you, Arthur. It’s not cheating. It’s what you do. Merlin has his magic. I have my devilish charm and dashing good looks and you have . . . people. Why shouldn’t you be allowed to use what you’ve got?” Gawain met Arthur’s suspicious gaze with a helpless little smile. “It’s not cheating.”

Silence reigned in the wake of this statement. Arthur gazed into the distance. Gawain’s words had taken him by surprise. He didn’t know how he wanted to feel about that but as he tried to figure it out he couldn’t seem to catch hold of any particular feeling for long enough to see if it fit.

“Who wants to lay odds on which of the boys is going to come back with the Cup?” Not even a minute had gone by before Gawain found he could no longer bear the silence. He could not tell what either Arthur or Merlin was thinking and it was unendurable. He ought to have just kept his mouth shut. That would have been the wiser thing—well, that explained that then. “My money is on Lancelot. That man is focused and ready for battle.”

“Maybe too focused.” Merlin answered embracing the topic change. “Magical challenges sometimes call for a more roundabout approach.”

“Then I change my bet to Elyan.”

“Well, we won’t find out until tomorrow.” Arthur said adjusting his back against the tree trunk in an attempt to be more comfortable. “I suddenly find I’m less worried about the Cup and I just want them all to come back unharmed.”

“Are you having premonitions, Arthur?” Gawain demanded with a grin.

“No,” Arthur scoffed. He wrinkled his face in distaste so at to further disassociate himself with anything of the kind. “But, it seems like they are in danger and I just can’t decide if I think it’s necessary.”

Gawain didn’t know where to take the conversation from there. He didn’t want silence and he didn’t want to talk about anything important or serious. He couldn’t think of a line of conversation, though, that would lead to the light amiable chat he wanted. Usually he would just throw out topics until one of them stuck but he wasn’t feeling his usual confidence. Stretching elaborately Gawain got to his feet. “Well, I think I’ll stretch my legs. Maybe I’ll find something fresh for dinner. It seems like we can afford to take our time over the meal.”

Arthur nodded his agreement to this plan and Gawain sauntered off. When he returned he expected that everything would be more laid back. He just needed to give Arthur and Merlin time to work out all the serious thinking they felt inclined to do and then the three of them would have a pleasant evening together while they waited for the others.  
*  
Once through the gate there was about a ten-foot strip of grass between the Castle’s outer wall and inner wall. This would be where any attackers who managed to breach the Castle’s first defense would find themselves trapped and easy prey for the defenders unless and until they managed to breach the second wall. Leon looked up at the wall looking for any arrowslits or meurtrières from which defenders could rain down death to invaders. He wasn’t given much of a chance to look around though. Lancelot had already rushed through the second gate and was inside the castle proper. Leon hurried after him.

Light poured into a large, square interior room through the door Leon and the other knights had just come. The only other sources of light were eight torches. There was one torch ensconced in a bracket on either side of four closed doors. There was one door along the left wall, two in the wall facing the outside door and one on the right wall.

“I guess this is pretty self-explanatory?” Elyan commented as he looked around. “One door for each of us?”

“It would seem so.” Lancelot agreed. He had been eyeing the door on the right wall since the moment he stepped into the room. Now he turned to nod farewell to his fellows. “Well, good luck, everyone.”

Leon was tempted to call him back. There was no hurry. Lancelot was being precipitate. But, as Lancelot took down one of the torches from the bracket by his chosen door and firmly grasped the knob Leon found he could not call him back. What good could deliberation do? Leon was even sympathetic to Lancelot’s urgency. The dream world, Elaine, the Cailleach, none of that was Lancelot’s fault and yet he had to feel it. Like a brand, like acid, Lancelot had to feel the burn of disappointment and shame. Leon expected that he would feel the same in Lancelot’s place. As he thought that though, sanctimony whispered that Leon could never be in Lancelot’s place because Leon’s amorous proclivities did not bend treasonous. Color suffused Leon’s cheeks and he wished sincerely that he had not thought such a thing. It was most unkind, most unfair.

“Anyone else have a preference?” Elyan’s question brought Leon back to the present and he looked about. None of the three remaining doors seemed any more or less attractive than the others. Leon shrugged.

“I may as well take this one then?” Elyan said heading toward one of the doors in the wall facing the outside door. When he was right in front of it he paused and turned to offer Leon and Percival a smile and a casual salute. Then he took up a torch and disappeared through the door.

Leon and Percival were the only two left and suddenly neither one wanted to linger. Each knight moved as boldly as he could to the door nearest to him. There was nothing, as Leon approached his door, to indicate what was within but he did not give himself time to think. Like a swim in a cold river it was better to jump in all at once. He grabbed a torch and flung the door wide. He stepped inside.

Darkness and the sound of rushing wind greeted him. The powerful gusts of air nearly doused Leon’s fire before he had a chance to take in his surroundings. Quickly Leon turned his back to the wind to give the flame some shelter from the onslaught. There was little to see in the shallow spill of firelight. Leon held the torch as far out in front of him as he could reach but besides the door he had just come through there was nothing. 

Swallowing Leon took a step forward, then another, as he tried to take a third he realized almost too late that the ground beneath him abruptly fell away. Heart pounding Leon retreated and pressed his back against the door. After several seconds recovering, Leon bent to bring the fire nearer the ground.

The light illuminated rock. Leon moved forward again slowly. There, less than ten feet from the door the ground dropped away except for a narrow path, less than two feet across, that continued on into the darkness. Leon explored the edge as best he could. He thought there might be a way to climb down but the rock ledge came to a sheer drop. At least the surface he was standing on seemed solid enough, Leon consoled himself.

Determining that he had learned all that he could about this magic terrain from where he was, Leon decided that if he was not going to retreat then it was time to get on with it. He held this thought out and let it lead him like the torch, which he carefully angled so that it was shielded from the wind and so that he could still see the ground. Carefully, he stepped out onto the ledge. 

It wasn’t so bad. The wind whipped past him and the path was uneven, narrowing and widening but it wasn’t so bad. Leon had just reached a point where he was willing to devote some bit of thought to something besides his next step when a shriek pierced the howling wind. Leon froze. He heard the shrieking again and just as he started to draw his sword. He was struck from the side. The impact pushed him off balance and he was forced to take a step to steady himself. 

Brandishing his torch all about him, Leon looked for what had struck him. He saw nothing. He remained still, waiting. Minutes passed. Then, Leon heard the shrieking again. He braced himself for an impact like he had previously endured and swung the torch in the direction he thought he heard the noise.

There was a dark shape and then the shape passed by Leon. The knight had the fleeting impression of a giant bat but then there was more shrieking and Leon was bombarded from opposite directions. He flailed with his torch. He heard a sound like claws on metal. He twisted away from the creatures but this time the step he needed to regain his balance landed in space.

He was going to fall. He was going to fall. Leon felt his momentum moving him forward. Frantically he bent the knee of his standing leg and pushed off the ground to shift the direction of his fall so that he could land on the narrow path. Abandoning the torch, Leon clutched for the ground. He landed on his side with most of his weight supported by the small path. Breathing erratically Leon scrabbled to get solid rock beneath every inch of him. 

He lay on his belly in complete darkness for what felt like minutes before very carefully getting to his hands and knees. He felt stable. He wasn’t going to fall. Cautiously he lifted a hand to probe his head. His fingers came away wet but Leon did not think he had been hurt badly. Without really thinking Leon brought his hand to his mouth and tasted the salty warmth of his own blood. It reduced the power of the darkness somehow to engage another sense. 

Without light Leon decided that he would continue on hands and knees. It might be slow but it was safe. Reaching out with his right hand Leon groped ahead. The path was still there. Now he could just nudge his right knee forward. There, success. Now, the left side. It wasn’t so bad.  
*  
“It helped, didn’t it?”

“What?”

“What Gawain said, it helped?”

Arthur considered the question. He wanted to scoff but then suddenly he really didn’t want to. “It did actually.” Arthur generally didn’t expect sincerity from Gawain so when he got it then it took him a few minutes to realize it wasn’t a trap. Perhaps Arthur needed to start expecting more from Gawain. 

Merlin nodded. He was glad but he couldn’t help but think that he had told Arthur something similar often enough. But then, Merlin also knew that he had lost a lot of credibility with Arthur on this particular subject. The days where Arthur could accept Merlin’s reassurances completely and uncritically were over.

“I’m sorry, Merlin.”

“What for?” Merlin asked perplexed. It was good that Arthur had been able to find some reassurance in Gawain’s words.

“I’m sorry it still bothers me, that I’m not over it. I want to be. I am mostly. It’s just . . . Anyway, it’s not fair to you.” The years Merlin had stood at Arthur’s side casting magic from the shadows while Arthur charged ahead all unknowing were a weight on Arthur’s chest. When Merlin had first confessed Arthur had felt so terribly betrayed and isolated and confused. Everything was different. His understanding not only of the world but of himself had had to be rebuilt. He and Merlin had worked their way through it though. Now was a new beginning, a clean slate. Arthur would not make the same mistakes. He would do right by Merlin this time. They would be true to each other. They would really know one another. They would be . . . They would have . . . Arthur had not the words to describe what he felt, what he wanted in the future. He could think only that they would be together and that would encompass all that was right. 

And yet thoughts of the past, the knowledge of what he had done and not done and what had been done to him dragged Arthur down. He had the distinct image- it felt almost like a memory- of drowning, of being pulled beneath the water, away from light and air and any freedom of motion. He could not even struggle against the weight of his armor, the weight of his broken will. How could he ever hope to be free of something that clung so fiercely to him?

“I don’t know that fair or unfair really comes into it.” Merlin was grateful- desperately grateful- that Arthur had come as far as he had, forgiven as much as he had; the more so because Merlin had not always understood the consequences of his actions. In his more analytical moments, Merlin considered that maybe it was good that Arthur was not the sort of man who could brush aside nearly ten years of lies, secrets and misinformed decisions. What sort of man could go through the experience Arthur had gone through and not be shaken down to his foundation? Yet even as Merlin knew that Arthur needed to work through all of it if he was ever going to be certain enough of his bearings going forward, Merlin wished Arthur could forget about the past and just be happy in the great adventure that lay before them. “You feel the way you feel. I’d rather that you were angry with me than have you shut me out.”

“Oh, I’m not angry with you, Merlin.” Arthur caught Merlin’s hand, laced their fingers together and squeezed gently. “I’m angry with myself. God, sometimes I really just wish- It doesn’t matter. There’s no help for it but time.” Arthur suspected that along with time, a few solid victories here and there- something, anything he could truly be proud of- would go a fair ways to helping assuage some of the self-disgust but he didn’t want to say that to Merlin. Merlin was so close to him and that was good but Arthur did not want to make Merlin unhappy or drag him down into Arthur’s dark moods. He had forgiven Merlin. He just couldn’t forgive himself. “Let’s talk about something else. How did Emrys enjoy the magic market? I never got a chance to ask.”

“The market?” Merlin considered resisting the change of subject. Arthur wasn’t happy. Merlin wanted to fix it. He needed to fix it. He would fix it. He would do whatever was necessary to make it better but he had to admit to himself that he didn’t know how yet. So, “I’m not sure how much I want to tell you. You’re bound to be smug about it.”

“That doesn’t sound like me.”

“Ha. Well, I should tell you that I think the Orkney Bhuidseach sent one of their seers to tell me what little he knew about the Cup and the future generally. I didn’t put it together until they actually told me that they’d sent someone to Emrys with as much prophecy as they could glean. The man who came up to me at the fair, it sounded like nonsense.” Merlin sighed and waived a hand in frustration. “But, maybe if I had been paying attention we could have had a bit of warning.”

“What did he say?”

“I don’t rightly remember all of it. He did say something about a Cup and a prince of pentangles, which I guess is actually Gawain.”

“Sounds like a card game.”

“That’s exactly what I thought!”

“Well, so magic visions can be opaque. Nothing to gloat about there.” Arthur gloated.

“That wasn’t even the part I thought you were going to be smug about.” Merlin complained.

“You underestimated me.” 

“It’s silly.” Merlin shook his head. “But, being Emrys, it can be fun sometimes- interesting. It’s different being the center of attention but, you know, it’s hard too. I can’t explain why exactly but it just wears me out. All the people- they all want something. Even the ones who don’t want anything want me to leave them alone and they’re always half wondering that maybe I won’t leave them alone so they ought to keep an eye on me just in case. It isn’t that people are insincere or unreasonable- although some are- it’s that they’re unrelenting. I can’t figure out what they want from me. It’s overwhelming but when I try to take a step back- maybe get some distance from it I feel callous- like I’m walking away from someone in desperate need.” Merlin finished his rant on a grating sigh, then he turned his head slightly to sneak a sidewise glance at Arthur. “I don’t know. Maybe I don’t mean that. It’s only that being Emrys makes me feel like I could crawl into a cave and sleep for a hundred years.” 

“That isn’t anything to feel bad about, Merlin. It’s not surprising that being Emrys takes a lot of effort. He can’t be an easy person to be. Anyway, I thought so.” Arthur said but then forced himself to amend, “well, Gwen thought so.”

“What do you mean?”

“I wondered why, after the market, you didn’t show up for dinner.” Arthur explained. “I thought maybe something had gone wrong. I knew you had returned to the castle as Merlin but you didn’t come to talk. I thought- I don’t know what I thought. Anyway I was going to send someone to get you but then Gwen said that you were probably tired. She was right, wasn’t she? You needed to be by yourself for a while? It’s easy for me to forget how much privacy you are used to . . . and how much you’ve given up.”

Arthur smiled to himself. He knew he had a tendency to be inconsiderate of other people’s time and energy. He was lucky to have Gwen around to suggest that maybe Merlin wanted some time to rest and recover on his own. Arthur didn’t want to crowd Merlin but he didn’t entirely trust himself to realize that that was what he was doing. He was glad that he hadn’t sent someone to fetch Merlin. Now he got to take credit for having insight- at least he could take credit for having the insight to listen to his wife.

“Yeah.” Merlin replied softly. “Yeah, I guess I needed a bit of rest.”

“It’s all right to admit it, you know. I know I pushed you in the past. I think I was trying to force you to admit it was too much, that you couldn’t handle it. God knows what I thought that would prove.” Arthur smiled ruefully and gave Merlin’s hand one more squeeze before finally letting go. “The point is that’s over now. No more games. If you need time just tell me, or tell Gwen or tell anyone. Help us take care of you.”

“Whatever game it was, I think we were both playing.” Merlin remembered all the chores Arthur had demanded of him years ago. They had been unreasonable and if Merlin had not had magic to hurry them along then he might well have been driven to confront Arthur with the impossibility of it all. Instead he’d congratulated himself on being too clever for that. He had taken a perverse pride in being able to take anything and everything Arthur threw at him with no more than a few well-crafted complaints. Maybe he had been hell-bent on convincing Arthur in the only acceptable way available that he really was competent- super competent. Maybe he had been afraid that if he had gone to Arthur to have a conversation about Merlin’s own limits he would have ended by telling Arthur everything. 

“It was a strange game- one that we both lost in the end.” Arthur said full of the awareness of time and opportunity wasted.

“If one of us lost then the other had to as well. That’s what comes of being on the same side. But, I like to think that, eventually, we both won.”

“I’d like to think that too.” Arthur said, hoping that he really could.

The early afternoon sunlight dappled the grass through the trees. There was quiet except for sounds of the natural world rustling, singing, buzzing around them. The day invited idleness. There was no urgent business to be done. There was no clamor or bustle. It was easy to be still. It was easy for Arthur and Merlin to be next to each other, shoulders just touching.

Arthur felt enough at peace that he was willing to let his thoughts tumble on their own without his conscious direction. Immediately Camelot flitted through Arthur’s mind. What was happening there? How was Gwen? He did not pursue these questions as they emerged. Any one of them could consume him. Instead he let his mind transition to thoughts of his knights- especially Lancelot, because even though Arthur would like it to be otherwise he knew that bringing Lancelot back to Camelot might involve some challenges. Arthur thought about the Lady of the Lake and found that this was a pleasant enough place to pause. He might have lingered there for a while because a creature of magic dedicated to nurture and healing was a welcome idea. He felt an affinity for the Lady somehow that did not seem justified by how they knew each other. She reminded him of Hunith strangely. But the Lady of the Lake was quickly replaced by the Cailleach in Arthur’s wandering imagination. How did Arthur feel about her now? There seemed a good chance that Arthur would have learned about the Cup of Life without her intervention. But, she had intervened. What did she really expect to gain from him? How much of the truth had she told him?

“Arthur?”

“Hm? What?”

“Is this where we’re going to set up camp?” While Arthur had been daydreaming Merlin had also planned to relax in the quiet afternoon. He was comfortable and considered taking a nap but dismissed the idea on the ground that he wanted to enjoy the stillness. Like Arthur, Merlin gave free rein to his thoughts. Gawain was a prince. There was another secret revealed- a bigger secret than Merlin had realized but it was good. It seemed good. No harm done. Lancelot was back. And there was a secret that had never really been a secret. What to do there? Lancelot was a dear friend but also he was a problem. No! No. Not a problem but something, something. Merlin suddenly felt restless. He thought that perhaps it was not a good idea to dwell on the problem- no, not problem- of Lancelot right now. He ought to think of something more amenable to the soft floaty feeling he had had not so long ago. Freya? She was nice to think about- someone reliable who didn’t make demands on Merlin’s mental energy. But, no, Merlin still felt this . . . itchiness. Frustrated Merlin turned to see if Arthur was experiencing the same inexplicable unease but Arthur seemed content to be lost in thought. Against his will Merlin started to drum his fingers on the ground. He was antsy. He needed to move. His foot would start tapping any second. Giving up, Merlin decided he might as well do something useful while he walked off this unexpected twitchiness.

As Merlin came to his feet, Arthur roused from his contemplations enough to consider Merlin’s question. It was a good place- near the Castle but with reasonable cover. “Sure, this seems as likely a spot as any.”

“I’ll go bring the horses in, then.” Merlin volunteered. The horses had been given water and hobbled near some tall grass while Merlin had been summoning the Castle. They were gazing contentedly about a hundred yards’ distant.

“I’ll come with you.” Arthur got lightly to his feet, willing to abandon his musings for the sake of company. 

As Merlin stood up and started moving around some of his edginess abated. Merlin shook his head over the contrariness of his own body. How often had he wanted an afternoon to quietly relax, away from everything and then, the moment he got it, it seemed nothing would settle him but productive activity. Merlin was about to make a comment to this effect when he was suddenly seized by the collar and yanked several feet backward into the shelter of the trees.

“Hey-“

“Shh!”

“What?” Merlin whispered turning to Arthur.

“Look.” But even as Arthur pointed Merlin saw them. Horsemen, thirty, maybe more, headed straight for the Castle Perilous. “They must have already seen our horses. It won’t be hard to figure out who we are once they have a look at our gear.”

Merlin nodded and tried not to let his sudden fear reflect in his expression. It was not the sight of the armed men converging on the Castle Perilous that froze Merlin’s blood. Nor was it the knowledge that the riders would soon know who and how many they were. The riders were still too far away to distinguish individual characteristics but Merlin knew he recognized a figure near the front of the group. Back straight and dark hair streaming behind her Morgana was coming.  
*


	9. Chapter 9

The sun shone brightly enough to make Lancelot’s eyes tear as he looked around the new landscape. He doused his torch and placed it somewhat awkwardly beside the freestanding door he had just come through. Shielding his eyes, Lancelot took stock of his surroundings- desert, sand, nothing else. The sun appeared directly overhead. Already Lancelot’s armor was hot to the touch. There was not a cloud in the sky.

Lancelot wrapped his cloak about him in such a way as to protect his head and eyes from the aggressive sun and set forth. He traveled in the same direction he was headed as he entered this place, figuring it was as good a direction as any. Walking in sand proved more difficult than walking on proper ground but Lancelot kept a steady pace even as his boots threatened to slide out from under him from time to time.

The sun did not move in the sky. Time had to have passed but it was perpetual noon in this land. The glare of the sun off the sand hurt Lancelot’s eyes despite his effort to create some shelter with his cloak. It didn’t matter. The first awareness of thirst didn’t matter either. This was a test. They, someone, the Fisher King? the Old Religion itself? was trying to break him. So far, Lancelot wasn’t very impressed. 

On that thought, there was a flicker of movement to Lancelot’s left. For a moment Lancelot questioned his aching eyes but there it was again. He slowed but did not stop as he watched for what would happen next.

The next thing he knew it was suddenly hotter. This surprised Lancelot because he didn’t think his body could have perceived hotter, but it did. A gout of fire burst over Lancelot but it was out before he was more than singed. Jumping backward, Lancelot had his sword drawn in the same move. Leather wrapped around the pummel protected his hand from the hot metal.   
Carefully Lancelot looked around. When he saw movement in the sand he stabbed at it. He felt something wriggle around his blade. He pressed and twisted until the wriggling stopped. Cautiously he exhumed the creature that had breathed fire at him. It was lizard-like, two or three feet long and narrow. It had short stubby extremities which it presumably used to dig. Lancelot freed his sword from the creature’s body and continued on his way.

As Lancelot walked, he encountered more creatures. He quickly learned to recognize the signs of their approach and, after the first two or three, he hardly needed to break his stride to dispatch them.

Bravado was not generally Lancelot’s style but he had to fight the temptation to shout his defiance across the desert. This couldn’t be all they had. He was baking in the heat and his thirst had grown to something quite uncomfortable but this couldn’t really be his challenge. 

Lancelot was so sick of easy tests and pretend fights. For months he had battled all nature of foes. Pick an entry from a bestiary at random and Lancelot had probably vanquished it. Or at least he had vanquished some shadow version that Elaine had conjured for him. Lancelot probably could have defeated those enemies with his eyes shut. He could have lain down and shown the fake monsters his throat and he wouldn’t even have been scratched. Now, here was in another magic world- only this time Elaine wasn’t pulling the strings. He could die here. If he lay down for the pesky little fire lizards they would eventually succeed in roasting him. So, at least there was that. 

Or maybe there wasn’t even that. That thought was the only thing in this place that had thus far come remotely close to frightening him. Elaine was not here but her several times great grandfather was. Maybe this was another pretend test. Maybe if he died here he would just wake up back in the room he had started in unscathed. Gods, it was unendurable. No, there had to be real stakes here. If Lancelot were to survive and succeed it would be by his own decisions and his own skill. With difficulty Lancelot tamped down his emotions. It would come. His chance would come. He would claim the Cup for Arthur. He let out his breath slowly. That would be the start but it would not be the end. He would be a true champion or he would die trying. He wanted nothing in between.

He walked on. Time passed. Eventually Lancelot saw something in the distance, a shimmering that soon resolved itself into trees. Trees, there would be water and shade and honest earth that didn’t slide out from under him at every step. Lancelot could not help but feel a little insulted. Did they think he could be taken in by an illusion or, at the least, a diversion? What caliber of champion was the Castle Perilous accustomed to dealing with? Lancelot continued on, straight ahead.

Again time passed.

Eventually, Lancelot heard a rumble. The ground shook and Lancelot felt the vibration in his throat, in his chest- like the sound wanted to take over for his heartbeat. Lancelot continued forward, keeping his eyes sharp for whatever came next. There was another rumble and then another hard upon it. Lancelot was still getting his bearings when there was a fourth vibration and the ground opened up before him. Knocked off his feet, Lancelot slid several yards across the sand until he was able to slow his momentum. He lay on his back looking up at the sky as a shadow fell across him.

Scrambling to his feet, Lancelot took in the burnished red scales glittering like jewels. The body was enormous and yet sinuous as it flew through the air. It swooped and Lancelot glimpsed eyes like black pools.

“There you are,” Lancelot crooned. “You’re beautiful, aren’t you. Come to me.”  
*  
After banging his shin for a third time, Percival wondered how much effort it had taken the Castle to create a seemingly endless network of caves that was just a little too small for him to navigate comfortably. He could not go more than a few feet without having to bend, crouch or turn sideways. If Elyan had taken this door would the caves have been reduced proportionally? Or maybe Percival was always going to get this cave no matter what door he chose. Maybe they all had gotten caves. It was useless to speculate. He just hoped that as soon as one of them managed to find the Cup the rest of them would be allowed to leave at the same time. Percival had no intention of dillydallying but Lancelot was a man burning with fierce and impatient ambition. There wasn’t any point in Percival crawling through a cave once the Cup was claimed.

Damn! This time Percival hit his head as he moved forward. He’d hit his head several times before and his hips, his elbows, his knees, his shins but this had really hurt. He found no blood but Percival had to curse again. He wished he had the space to walk around for a few seconds, just long enough for the intensity of the sting to diminish. He cursed once more but the pain had already begun to subside.

Despite the cramped quarters he had light. A fact for which Percival was not too proud to be grateful. Some of the rock around him seemed to glow faintly and it was enough to spare him some bruises. The source of the glow was a mystery for a while. But as he trudged on his clumsy way, Percival noticed small sluglike creatures inching along the cave walls. The luminance seemed to be excreted in their wake. Percival found this mildly disgusting but he’d rather have the light than not.

After one more especially painful bump that had his eyes watering, Percival began to notice that it was a bit brighter in his cave. This cheered him up until he realized that the new light had not come from a small pack of slugs traveling together. It wasn’t even from a large pack of slugs. There was only one slug but it filled the entire cave. It expanded into the crevices and crags. There was no room around it and it was moving.

It was moving at such a pace that Percival could manage to stay ahead of it- at least in the short-run. It would mean hurrying through a cavern that had been rough with him when he was being careful. Percival considered other options.

Drawing his sword, Percival advanced on the blob. He stabbed it. The blade slid into the creature with little more resistance than water. The stabbing had no discernable effect. It didn not so much as slow the advancing slug. Percival retreated a few steps.

When Percival attacked again he did so with a slash as though he would cut the blob in half. The sword cut but after a few seconds the slug oozed together again. Frustrated and a little worried, he was now retreating backward at the same pace the slug was advancing, Percival reached out to touch the blob. His fingers registered slime and the resistance against his hand increased with every inch he tried to push it further into the blob.

Percival turned and ran a little ahead of the creature to have some time to think. He was short on ideas. Killing the blob did not seem possible. Maybe fire would drive it back? Percival had abandoned his torch soon after entering this cavern. He had light without it and even if he hadn’t there would have been too much smoke in such a confined space. Grimacing, Percival again ran away from the creature to buy time.

Without much confidence but feeling there was little alternative, Percival tore a strip from the hem of his cloak. He arranged the cloth on the ground but then realized that the blob would reach him before had a chance to ignite a spark. Hurriedly he picked up the cloth and moved away as fast he could for half minute. With this additional time Percival again set up the cloth and brought out his flint and steel. In the end, he had to retreat twice more before he could get a spark started before the blob reached him. But, eventually the cloth caught and a weak flame quivered on the ground.

The blob did not so much as pause as it oozed over the small fire. It wasn’t a bad idea, Percival thought with disappointment. It might even have worked if he had brought the torch. Was that it? Had he failed because of that? Was he meant to have kept the torch with him and now he had to go back to the beginning because he hadn’t? Percival didn’t see why abandoning the torch should mean he failed his test. It seemed a petty thing to disqualify him for. But, who knew? Maybe it was symbolic. 

Percival had just one more idea. It was so simple that it seemed like it would be wrong necessarily but what if Percival and the blob just squeezed past each other? He might be crushed against the side of the cavern. The blob really did fill the whole height and width of the path. But, the cavern was not uniform it narrowed and widened, rock rose up from the ground and jutted down from the ceiling at random intervals. If Percival found a relatively spacious length of passage perhaps he could press himself along the wall, let the slug ooze past and then they could both be on their way.

The plan assumed that the blob was only a few feet long, though. If the creature was a lot longer Percival could suffocate and that was, again, if he were not crushed. The alternative was full retreat- all the way to where he had entered the cavern. The prospect daunted him. What would he do then, retrieve the torch? There was still no guarantee that fire was the answer. If it were not then it seemed gratuitous to make Percival lumber all that way back just to be crushed to death at his starting point.

He might be allowed to escape if he reached his starting point. That wasn’t impossible. Maybe it was even likely. Still, the Fisher King hadn’t said anything about being allowed to quit.

But even if the torch could fend off the blob, he would have to retrace his steps driving the blob before him. He had no way to truly measure time but he perceived he had been at this for several hours at the least. It would take at least twice that time just to come back to the same place he encountered the blob.

So, did he retreat and give up if he were able? Did he retreat and resign himself to starting over? Or did he try to slip past? Percival weighed the pros and cons. He did not like the idea of failing, of quitting. His pride objected and his conscience chided him. But, his pride did not rule him and he took solace in the knowledge that he was not alone in this quest. Among the four of them, Percival was confident one of the knights would figure out the proper thing to do. 

And yet, as Percival continued to think he found that he was increasingly curious about whether he could really get past the blob. If the solution were that simple and he walked away from it he would not readily forgive himself. In the end, curiosity won the day.

Scouting ahead Percival found a promising portion of tunnel. Putting his back to the wall he slid down so that he was sitting with his knees bent against his chest. He cocooned himself as best he could in his cloak. Percival would not have admitted it but one of the cons of this plan was that it required that he get slimy.

Percival had laid aside his sword but taken up his dagger. He did not expect that it would help but it reassured him to have a weapon. The blob was creeping closer. Shutting his eyes, Percival tucked his head and positioned his arms to protect his face. He waited.

It wasn’t as unpleasant as he feared when the front of the creature began to extrude past him. He did feel the weight of the thing pressing in on him but it was almost comfortable- like a cushion. It progressed slowly and Percival wondered if it was slower than it had been or if it just felt that way.

As the blob continued forward and more of Percival was covered the pressure increased. It was heavier and thicker than water. It was heavier than syrup. Although, Percival mused, it was not quite so thick as jam. The stuff got everywhere. Percival turned his face away from the oncoming ooze. He took long deep breaths as though preparing to dive under water. The slime was in his ear, and under his collar. It seeped up under his sleeves.

The cushion was growing increasingly firm. Percival could still move but he had a growing sense of being uniformly pressed. He took one long deep breath then the blob closed over his mouth and nose. Percival reached out in the direction against the blob’s movement. It was difficult but he was able to do it. He hoped to feel air against his hand signaling that the blob was almost past but he did not. 

Because he was curious and because the slime had thus far proven not to be toxic, Percival narrowly opened one eye. It did not sting and burn as he had half feared and so he opened both eyes. It was like being in murky, yellow green water. He could see across to the opposite side of the tunnel. He turned his head but could not see where the blob ended. It was too soon to panic.

Seconds passed. Percival decided he would try to move against the forward movement of the blob in hopes of getting through it faster but he could not. He was not completely pinned. He could move his fingers, hands, arms, head with effort but there was too much pressure for him to swim or crawl. 

His head was starting to pound, his lungs ached and his extended fingers were still enveloped in the creature. It couldn’t last much longer. The thing couldn’t be that big. Black spots flashed across his vision and Percival knew he had very little time left. He could not think beyond his body’s distress but somehow the awareness came to him that he was seeing more than just the struggle of an oxygen-deprived brain. 

There was a light in front of him. It was brighter than the diffuse yellow green luminance that surrounded him. It shone with an intense white light and Percival found himself fascinated even as his body’s signals of panic and distress seem to grow remote. He reached for the light but he did not grasp it. 

His perception of depth was distorted but he tried again forcing his overmatched muscles to move. This time his hand closed over the light and he dragged it toward himself. It was the size of a pinecone and it was beautiful. It was alive. With a reluctance overborn by a feeling of inevitability, Percival dragged his knife to the light. He closed his eyes as he pressed the blade in.

In that instant, the force animating the blob, the force compelling it to hold its shape was gone. In a heavy wave the blob splashed through the tunnel. In less than a minute the great creature had receded to a few inches of slime lapping around Percival’s ankles. Percival spent that minute dragging in long desperate breaths. When he finally regained his composure he examined the object in his hand.

He had not been wrong to see it as the size and roughly the shape of a pinecone but whatever light it had emitted was gone now. It felt like a rock or perhaps a crystal but must have been softer because Percival could see where his knife had pierced the object. Shaking his head, Percival laid the object on the ground with care and pushed himself to his feet.  
*  
From their position, crouched down low among the tall grasses Arthur, Merlin and Gawain watched Morgana’s force. There were thirty-five of them including a man and woman dressed in robes. Robes didn’t have to mean they were sorcerers but in Arthur’s experience there was definitely a correlation. In the time it had taken Arthur and Merlin to collect Gawain, who fortunately had not wandered far, and then find a proper vantage to observe from cover, Morgana, her sorcerers and soldiers had gathered around the entrance to the Castle Perilous. Most of the gear from Camelot had been discovered with the horses and brought before Morgana. If she had not known before then she could now make a very good guess about who was here.

“Why hasn’t she gone into the Castle?” Gawain whispered.

“I don’t think she intends to. I think she’s waiting for our people to come out.” Arthur answered and Merlin nodded his agreement.

“That’s not a bad strategy if a bit opportunist.” 

“But, how did she know about the opportunity?” Arthur murmured. 

“She’s a seer. That probably helped.” Merlin said wryly, though he too wanted a lot more information than what was available.

As they watched, Morgana’s people began the routine activities of setting up a camp. Morgana herself and her two robed companions began walking in an ever expanding circle. There were gestures and presumably chanting though the group from Camelot was too distant to hear. Arthur shot a glance at Merlin and Merlin nodded that this was magic but shook his head to indicate that he did not know what kind. 

“So, what do we do now?” Merlin asked to open the discussion.

“What, can’t you just wave your hand and put them all to sleep?” Gawain asked feeling that this was likely the sort of situation where magic was called for.

“Is that something you would want me to do?”

Gawain was on the point of saying ‘Hell, yes! There are thirty-five people down there with one definite sorcerer and two probables and there are only seven of us- three at the moment.’ But, Gawain checked and considered Merlin’s question. Did he want one man to have the ability to overwhelm the consciousness of several dozen other human beings from a distance and with little more than a thought? “Well, no. But, it’s the world we live in. Morgana’s proved she’s capable of much worse than that so why not blast them if you can. Fire with fire, right? Better them than us.”

“I couldn’t do it even if I wanted to.” Merlin said and there was a moment, a single agonizing second when Gawain knew, he knew that wasn’t true. In the next moment though, that sudden dread certainty seemed to recede from him until not even the memory of it was left. It was too bad, Gawain thought to himself, but if Merlin couldn’t do it then Merlin couldn’t do it.

“We don’t know what Morgana is doing. Until we figure it out, we should be cautious.” Arthur said as his gaze lingered on Merlin’s expression. 

“And even after.” Merlin nodded unhappily. The situation did not look promising. “Would Lot help us?” 

“No. Even with horses I don’t know that we could get there, make our case, muster enough men and get back before dawn.” Arthur frowned and bit his lip considering. “On top of that, I don’t think Lot would be willing to help us in this.”

“But this is his land. Even if he couldn’t be bothered to help us wouldn’t he want to defend his territory?”

“In his mind this is a magic problem and therefore not his concern.” Arthur said. “What about the Bhuidseach?”

“They agreed to help us the first time based on the explicit premise that we wouldn’t bring trouble to their door.”

“Maybe the witches are already helping Morgana.” Gawain speculated. “She got here very fast.”

Merlin did not think the Bhuidseach were helping Morgana but he did not have the will to protest. There were too many unknowns.

That was that for a time. Arthur was slowly coming to the conclusion that magic would indeed be needed but he did not know how. Arthur didn’t know what magic could do and that limited his ability to strategize. Oh, he knew in a general way. He knew Merlin’s favorite tricks but how that could be transformed into a plan, he was less certain.

“I have an idea, but you’re not going to like it.”

Arthur suspected that Merlin’s prediction would likely prove correct but he was willing to hear out even the unlikeable ideas at this point. “Gawain, keep watch on Morgana. If someone- anyone- leaves her camp I want to know immediately.”

Gawain nodded glumly and Arthur and Merlin slowly retreated from their lookout position toward the trees. When they felt they were far enough away from Morgana’s force that they could have a discussion that was more than the whispered exchange of a few sentences they stopped.

“All right, what’s the plan?”

“I said idea not plan.” Merlin quibbled. Arthur just raised an eyebrow.

“All right,” Merlin took a breath. “So, why don’t I go down to the Castle and let Morgana’s people catch me. Next, I’ll figure out what sort of magic she’s doing and what sort she’s planning. Then, I’ll use that information to come up with a way to stop her.” 

Silence greeted this idea. Arthur stared at Merlin with an intensity that Merlin found increasingly uncomfortable. 

“Are you going to hit me?” Merlin asked hoping to break some of the tension. 

Arthur blinked, “I’m holding back in the expectation that- for the sake of dramatic effect- you have withheld a number of details. And, those details- once known- will end up showing that your plan is not- in fact- both crazy and stupid.”

Merlin winced at Arthur’s tone as much as at his words but attempted a laugh. “I guess you’re going to hit me then.” 

Arthur turned away disgusted and Merlin quickly reached to grab his arm. “No, look, Arthur, listen.” Merlin pleaded. Why wouldn’t Arthur let him lighten the mood a bit? “If you tell me I can’t go then I can’t go. I accept that that is how it has to work but we’ve talked about this a lot. We talked about this just yesterday. You need to accept that I know what I’m doing; that I can handle myself.”

“I promised I’d listen, Merlin. That doesn’t mean I’m going to let you do whatever dangerous thing pops into your mind because you’re magic.” A little of Arthur’s anger was checked. They had indeed talked about this. Arthur didn’t want Merlin to feel pushed into a corner or hamstrung. He didn’t want to go back to a situation where Merlin felt he had to go his own way then lie about it every time he and Arthur disagreed. Merlin had unique skills and he needed leeway to make the best use of those skills. Arthur trusted Merlin and he valued his judgment but, damn it, sometimes the answer was still going to be no. And, Arthur thought, Merlin might have had the decency to understand that one of the quickest ways to ‘no’ was any cavalier suggestion that involved Merlin throwing himself on Morgana’s mercy.

“All I’m asking is that you listen.” Merlin insisted. He hadn’t expected Arthur to be pleased with his suggestion but the King’s harsh response put Merlin off-balance. He had grown accustomed to his suggestions being greeted with an open-mind. The way Arthur was acting, one would think Merlin was deliberately trying to provoke him when all Merlin was doing was trying to find a solution to a difficult problem. “We can’t do anything until we know what’s going on. We don’t know what Morgana knows or what she is doing but she is devious. If I can figure out what she’s doing I know I can find a way to stop her.”

“Morgana hates you, Merlin.” Arthur really did want to be reasonable but he didn’t see how Merlin’s plan made any sense. “She’s not going to take you into her confidence. If she gets the chance she’s going to kill you.”

“No, she won’t. Not immediately. You know better than I how she can be. Morgana has to prove she’s right. She likes having an audience to admire how smart and powerful she is. She’ll want to keep me around so she can rub her superiority in my face.”

“She’ll hurt you.” 

“Yes, probably, a bit. But, magic is so much easier to counter when you understand its purpose and intent. This is what I do, Arthur. I don’t really have a detailed plan but I won’t need one. She’ll think everything is going perfectly, that she can’t lose, right up until the moment some little thing happens and it all unravels. I don’t know how I’ll do it but I can beat her. I have before. I’m pretty sure I can beat her one on one in an outright fight but- I don’t know how to explain- it’s better if it doesn’t come to that.”

“She knows you have magic now. She’s going to put two and two together if there is a greater incidence than usual of tree branch related fatalities.” Merlin might have found this comment mildly amusing but Arthur’s tone was scathing- meant to cut.

“I can be subtle.”

Arthur snorted derisively.

“What else can we do? What other option is there? Wait until dawn and arrange some kind of a distraction so that the knights can have a slightly higher than zero chance of fighting their way past Morgana’s siege? Then we hope Morgana’s forces don’t run us all down before we can get a safe enough distance away from the Castle to use the Coin? Is that the idea you’ve pinned your hopes to? Because that’s not going to work. She knows we’re here and I bet she knew we would be here.”

“What if it was me, hm?” Arthur demanded. “What if it was me?”

“What if what was-“

“Why don’t I go down there and let Morgana tell me her plans? That would certainly draw her attention away from the Castle for a while, wouldn’t it. Maybe I’ll overhear her brilliant scheme’s one fatal flaw as she cuts me into pieces. After all, she probably won’t kill me either- not right away.”

“That’s not . . .” The world had suddenly gone very still for Merlin.

“Not what? Not funny? Not clever? No, Merlin, it really isn’t.” 

Merlin had been on the point of saying, ‘not ever going to happen.’ But he saw that he had done well not to finish the thought aloud.

“Letting Morgana have a go at you is not the solution here.” Arthur said vehemently. “Gods, Merlin, have you even thought about what happens to us if you do get hurt? Or killed? Have you given a second’s consideration to what that would mean to me, to us,” Arthur spread his arms out wide to indicate he felt comfortable speaking for the entire world on this point. “Or are you just so convinced of your own immortality- so drunk on what the Druids say of Emrys- that waltzing into danger like this actually seems reasonable to you?”

“Arthur, look, please, stop yelling at me for a moment,” Arthur had been very deliberately not yelling at Merlin but the result remained that Merlin felt thoroughly yelled at. “I don’t relish taking risks and I know I’m not immortal but- it’s hard to explain- this is how I fight. I’m stronger than Morgana. I don’t know about her cronies but, I think . . .. There’ll be an opening for me somewhere. There’ll be something I can do that will confound them but I won’t know what that is until I get there.” Merlin sighed. He couldn’t explain it properly. He’d never tried to explain it at all until just now. With a sudden flash of brilliance, Merlin went on, “If I get into too much trouble I have my teleportation spell- the one I practiced for the market.”

“There’s more than magic between us and getting the knights out of the castle safely.” Arthur said belligerently but then he paused and his expression changed. 

“You’ve thought of something, haven’t you?” Merlin tried not to sound too pleased. 

Arthur grimaced and Merlin waited. Grudgingly Arthur finally said, “The gate is defensible.”

“What?”

“The Castle gate. When Leon and the others leave the Castle, Morgana’s men will surround them. As outnumbered as they are, they’ll be cut to pieces before they even realize what’s going on. But the gate is defensible. If they had warning before they left the Castle that Morgana’s men were waiting for them then they could hold the gate against any number of men for as long as necessary.”

“I can warn them!” Merlin said earnestly. “The second the gate starts to open, I’ll warn them. I’ll be close enough. They’ll hear me and they won’t get surrounded.”

“Morgana might gag you.” 

“Then- just at the right time- it will come loose.” Merlin let one side of his mouth quirk up. “A gag isn’t going to shut me up. You see, Arthur? If I’m there I can warn the knights so they can hold their own while I see to the sorcerers.”

“I wish I knew where she keeps getting her resources.” Arthur muttered.

“I can try and find out.”

Arthur gave Merlin a reproachful look but he was thinking. “You’re sure you can use your spell, teleport, if you need to? I seem to recall being told that teleportation was difficult and dangerous.”

“Sometimes I exaggerate the difficulty of a spell to impress you.”

This earned a fleeting smile but then Arthur sighed. He leaned against a tree and ran a hand through his hair. He was not happy but he was beginning to see possible advantages to Merlin’s plan.

Going to Arthur’s side, Merlin put his arms around Arthur’s shoulders in a sideways hug. “This is one of those times when there’s nothing you can do.” Arthur made as if he was going to turn away but Merlin kept his arms around Arthur’s shoulders and pressed against his side. “It doesn’t happen often- it doesn’t. But, right now, my magic is the only way through this. Please, let me do my job.”

Arthur was still a while but when he once again moved to shake himself free of Merlin’s embrace Merlin retreated. 

“There can’t be nothing.” Arthur murmured. “You can’t just go out there and improvise. There’s got to be something . . .. I’m not agreeing, Merlin. I’m not.” Arthur’s brow was deeply furrowed and he massaged the skin between his eyes and along the bridge of his nose trying to order his thoughts. “But, let’s plan this out- think it through. Then we’ll see.”

Recognizing victory when it was in his hands, Merlin nodded gravely. “All right, let’s just plan it out and then we’ll see.”  
*  
It was disappointing to have been split up for the quest. Elyan had looked forward to searching for the Cup of Life as a group. Elyan had also had some idea that the quest itself would involve riddles or puzzles, fighting too, naturally, but he had really had his heart set on some riddles. Elyan was good at riddles and would have liked the chance to distinguish himself a little. He knew very well that there were a number of things that he would never be best at in the company he kept. 

But, there were as yet no riddles. What there was was wet. Elyan’s boots squelched out liquid with every step. He was covered in sweat- not because it was so hot- although it was warm but because the atmosphere itself seemed to be sweating. That was not to say that it was raining. Rain would have meant fewer insects. Altogether Elyan was uncomfortable and sorely lacking any obvious goal.

As he trudged through the swamp to- well, he wasn’t entirely clear on where he was going, but he had some notion that he needed to go across- Elyan’s mind wandered. He recognized that this was poor policy and he did try to direct his attention to the here and now but as the here and now consisted of wet feet and extraordinary humidity it was proving difficult. Frustration combined with restlessness to sap his spirit.

Batting midges from swarming around his face Elyan thought’s wandered to the object of this quest, the Cup of Life. What was it really? Could it truly make a man immortal or could it only create Morgana’s kind of undead immortality? It was supposed to heal everything up to and including death but there was a cost to that: someone else had to die. That seemed a good place, morally, to draw a hard line but Elyan could see how the temptation could prove irresistible. 

In the distance, Elyan suddenly noticed a pale light wending before him. At first, he was excited because here was something different but caution quickly caught up. Elyan knew about Will-o’-the-wisp and Jack-o’-the lantern. He had no desire to be lured to his death by some ghost. It was important to keep to his path. But, properly speaking, Elyan didn’t have a path, did he? He was just moving forward in the same direction because he wanted to get through this place and that seemed the quickest way. In truth, he was lost and wandering.

The light swayed appearing to drift nearer Elyan and the knight found himself too tempted not to follow. Just because the tales were all about an evil soul condemned to wander through the marshes with only a small light to comfort him that didn’t mean it was true. The spirit could be friendly, why not? In the end, taking any definite action was better than his previous sense of aimlessness.

The ghost moved forward at about the same rate Elyan did. It was frustrating that he could not close the distance between them but he was still holding onto the idea that the spirit might be benign. Even if it wasn’t benign then perhaps it would at least lead him somewhere.

As he continued on, Elyan began to ponder more deeply his predicament. Maybe he wasn’t being led anywhere. Maybe just searching for the Cup was enough to confer a sort of half-life onto someone. Maybe Elyan had become Will-o’-the-wisp himself and it was now his fate to wander endlessly. Elyan felt the anxiety that had been slowly building in him transform into full-blown fear.

Fighting panic Elyan looked around. He should abandon the ghost. He should never have followed. There were no distinctive features of the landscape, though. There was nothing to make this place in any way distinguishable from the miles he had already traveled. The sun was hidden somewhere in the pale sky offering him no help. 

Even as he considered abandoning the ghost though Elyan feared to lose sight of the being and so he scurried after it. Suddenly Elyan decided to run as fast as he could. It was freeing to move. It lessened his anxiety to hear his heart beating and feel his muscles firing. The fear that he would exhaust himself without making any progress no longer held sway over him. If there was no way out of this awful marsh then Elyan would rather collapse with his heart bursting than endure the slow corrosion of anxiety and fatigue.

In mid-stride Elyan was suddenly struck in the chest. He fell backward. Even as he blinked in surprise, Elyan’s reflexes had him unsheathing his sword without the conscious direction of his will. He looked up and suddenly the ghost was there before him. The light that the spirit carried looked something like fire. But, it was all of a piece. There were no individual flames and Elyan could see nothing that would keep a fire alight. 

The light kept his attention only briefly though because the light was in the hand of something man-shaped. It might have been human but the form was stretched and elongated as if a person had been pulled like taffy. The mouth gaped obscenely wide revealing only darkness. Elyan slashed at the creature with all his strength but his sword passed though the ghost. Try as he might, there was nothing that seemed to harm the being. And yet when the ghost reached for Elyan, damp but solid fingers grasped him. Elyan twisted away from the ghost’s grip and tried again to cut it. He even tried punching it in the face but he had no more success than he had had with his sword.

Elyan tried talking to the ghost, reasoning with it, but if the being understood it gave no indication. Elyan considered running away. The ghost had so far not hurt him much but it kept trying to grab him and hold onto him. Elyan had avoided that or twisted away but the ghost was strong- so strong that if it were not using one hand to hold its light it would almost certainly have wrestled him down by now. The problem with running away, though, was that it appeared that the ghost could run faster than Elyan could. On top of that there was nowhere to run.

The ghost lunged and Elyan danced away. As he did so, he thought about the light. The ghost was not so much holding the fire as the fire was hovering an inch or so above his palm. Elyan had avoided the light because, while it was not exactly the sort of fire he was familiar with, it was close enough that Elyan wasn’t going to go poking his fingers in it.

Tentatively Elyan stabbed at the light. Nothing happened and Elyan was almost relieved. Still it seemed odd. Why would the ghost keep ahold of the fire while attacking? Considering, Elyan slashed his sword through the empty space between the ghost’s hand and the flame. The fire fell to the earth. The ghost shrieked and dove after it but Elyan, whose battle training was asserting itself over his confusion, quickly moved between them. Elyan delivered a knee to the lunging ghost’s face. For the first time Elyan’s attack made an impact. The ghost reeled backward. Elyan pursued and drove his sword through the ghost’s back even as it scrambled to regain its feet.

Elyan pulled his sword back ready to stab again (and again and again) if needed but before his eyes the creature shriveled into itself until there was nothing left. Elyan watched the place where there should have been a corpse until he was entirely convinced that the ghost was gone. After that, he noticed the fire glowing nearby on the ground. It still burned and Elyan realized that he was still very much afraid of it. Cautiously the knight knelt and dug in the loamy earth scooping up handfuls of soil. He would not touch the fire but he dropped handful after handful of dirt over it until it was completely covered. 

As Elyan resumed his trek it occurred to him that the sudden urge to bury the fire had been foolish. He had forgotten that he was in the Castle Perilous. Elyan had acted out of fear that someone might come along, find the fire and then . . . Elyan did not know what. Become a ghost themselves? But, there were no casual travelers here.

The landscape was beginning to change. With every step the humidity seemed to diminish. The ground beneath Elyan’s feet became firm and dry. The swamp was becoming countryside. The transformation was complete when Elyan realized that he was walking along a path. He greeted this change with enthusiasm. The path was pleasant- or it would have been if Elyan’s boots had dried- and as he walked Elyan realized he could hear music. It had started out as the sounds of nature, birdsong mostly but at the same rate the swamp had become countryside the chirps and twitters became the music of a stringed instrument.

Elyan paused to listen. The music was coming from a specific direction- a direction that diverged from his path. As Elyan stood considering, the smell of fresh baked bread reached his nostrils. Elyan’s stomach responded with a rumble. The smell was coming from the same direction as the music. Elyan turned away. He had had enough of following curiosities for the time being. He kept to the path and the music and aroma faded.

Finally, Elyan came to see that there was a river up ahead and a bridge. The path led straight to the bridge. Elyan headed toward it.  
*  
It took patience to crawl in the darkness, testing each forward motion with bruised palms. It took patience but Leon had patience. He did not think about when the narrow path would end nor about when he would have light again. He just thought about his slow move forward. He was so focused that he had no sense of time passing until he came to a place where the narrow ledge diverged. 

Diligently Leon investigated. Going by touch alone, he plotted the space ahead of him with his body. When at last he had identified what was before him he knew that he stood- rather knelt- at a crossroads. To the left, the path continued on narrowing even further and beginning to slope downward. To the right the ledge grew wider, broadening so much that lying flat with his arms spread, Leon could not reach both edges of the stone bridge.

Were this not the Castle Perilous, were this not a test upon which important matters depended Leon would already be happily making his way down the right path. But, it was a test so Leon remained at the crossroads and considered.

Leon did not object to tests. He liked tests. He generally did well on them. The problem with this test and the source of Leon’s confusion and burgeoning resentment was that no one had told Leon what the test was measuring. Was he supposed to be bold and daring? If so then he was willing to take the left path and thus prove it. Was he supposed to show himself possessed of common sense? If so he would delay no further in taking the right path. The fact was that Leon could be either bold or cautious and which he was depended more on circumstance than anything else. 

Leon remembered the argument at the entrance to the Castle when Arthur had suddenly grown chary of the whole adventure. It was clear there was to be a test but there was no reason to expect that test to be in any way fair. Leon had, at that time considered, that it was worth the risk- it might well still be- but Leon was beginning to get the sense that someone was playing with him.

If only Leon knew what the Castle needed him to prove. What did either choice really say about him? And how was it relevant to the Cup of Life. Leon knew he could do what was wanted if only someone would tell him what that was. But, no one would tell him and so he had to guess and therein lay the fundamental unfairness.

So, the hard path or the easy path? Intuitively Leon thought the Castle would want him to take the harder path- it was a test after all. Tests were supposed to be difficult- that was usually the point. The harder path meant strength and courage. Those were good things but all else being equal the man who chose what was harder over what was easier demonstrated pridefulness and perhaps also a tendency toward masochism. The endurance of suffering was not a substitute for merit.

So, the easier path. That was sensible, goal oriented, straightforward. It showed a man who did not make unnecessary problems for himself. But then, maybe it was lazy, too. It might show a lack of ambition, an unwillingness to face challenges?

Leon let his breath out in a hiss. He didn’t know what to do and if he tried to guess he was certain to out-smart himself. Leon decided he was done playing this game. He was finished analyzing his every action, looking for the secret, looking for the riddle, waiting for someone to jump out from behind the bushes to point and laugh, to mock Leon for having been tricked. Resolutely, Leon turned right. 

He did not expect to have chosen correctly. He had not expected it so much that he was busily preparing the arguments in his head about why this whole thing was unfair and wrong-headed. He felt it was unlikely that he would get the chance to employ these arguments save perhaps in the Rising Sun a few mugs of ale into an evening. Still it was the principle. It was a genuine surprise then, when Leon realized that he was no longer in complete darkness. He could see his hand in front of his face if he focused. Happy but wary, Leon continued on. The light grew stronger. Leon felt confident enough to stand up. He was able to move much more quickly after that and soon there was daylight ahead.

Leon stopped and took in several deep breaths. The darkness had been a heavier burden than he had allowed himself to acknowledge. It was only now that it was over that he could realize how scared he had been. When he finally exited the cave, Leon felt another jolt of relief and he paused just to have the moment.

He did not wait long, however. He had emerged onto a path that led through the countryside. Strangely he thought he heard music as he walked. Then he smelled cooking. He ignored both phenomena. The music was upsetting because it interfered with his ability to hear what was around him. The darkness had left him attentive to sound and he didn’t want that distorted. He didn’t want any of his sense perceptions meddled with. It was bad enough to have been denied sight for hours but to escape from that only to be presented with the fear that his senses were now giving him false information was nightmarish.

He moved quickly and once the music faded Leon heard water. Anxiously he looked around until he discovered there was a river twisting into view ahead. The path led to a bridge and as he followed it he became aware of another path emerging roughly parallel to his own. The two paths came together at the bridge. Squinting, Leon saw a figure walking down the parallel road.

“Elyan!” Leon exclaimed jogging to the other man. Hearing his name, Elyan looked up and started to grin. The knights embraced, each tremendously pleased to see the other. This felt more like a proper quest.  
*


	10. Chapter 10

Magic flowed. It flowed up from the earth and from the three sorcerers themselves as they chanted words to hold and shape the magic that had been summoned. Morgana felt the thrill of opening the world to chaos. Only the thinnest of restraints held the power to Morgana’s intended purpose- only the words, the symbols on the ground, the herb ash she sprinkled as she walked, the strength of her will. It was like riding the whirlwind and Morgana fought the impulse to embrace the chaos, release the magic from its bonds and let it do as it would. She knew better, though that knowledge had not come easily to her. There was so much raw power in chaos. The conscienceless ecstasy of unconstrained energy was magic’s most powerful attraction to Morgana but chaos itself was not enough. If Morgana was to have what was rightfully hers she had to have control as well. 

Without changing her pace or breaking the cadence of the old tongue, Morgana sought out the two who were working this spell with her. She wondered if they felt the same temptation she did. Did the magic fill them? Did it threaten them even as it liberated them? Watching their placid faces Morgana doubted it. They did not properly sense the truth of the magic. They did not have Morgana’s spirit. They didn’t have her vision either come to that. Morgana smirked. They did not see into the future as she could. They could not feel the infinity of magic waiting, always ahead of them. They could not thrive as she could on the precipice, staring into the wild abyss.

Still, for the time being, these were her allies. It was galling but Morgana acknowledged that she had need of allies. A world long dominated by Uther had made potential allies both more and less abundant. The animosity of those with magic increased even as their numbers diminished. Now, there were vanishingly few temples remaining. Most of those who escaped were absorbed by Druid communities or they disappeared into the cities and villages where magic was banned and abandoned their old lives and beliefs. Some few though like Niniane and her followers kept the faith. They roamed the world living like bandits except that they still tried to keep temple discipline. 

Niniane was their priestess and while she could not be near the equal of Morgause she had knowledge Morgana lacked. Morgana’s mouth tightened in anger. As second-rate as Niniane was she still had many skills. She had achieved a position of power within her temple- at least until that temple had been destroyed. If Niniane had accomplished so much then what more might Morgana be now if she had not been denied proper teaching from her earliest days forward. Damn Uther. And damn him again. In every way he had wronged her.

With difficulty, Morgana reined in her rage. She needed patience for this spell. She needed patience every moment of her life if she was not to let anger and desire tear her apart. Niniane was of no long-term significance to Morgana. She needed the priestess now for her lore and for her soldiers- those few ungifted children of her fallen temple who still remained with her. When Niniane was no longer useful then Morgana would discard her and Blaize- Niniane’s sad, sole remaining acolyte. In a way it was almost a shame. There were so few of the Old Religion left. But Niniane would not countenance Morgana’s ultimate plan. She might even work to stop her if she found out about it. So, Morgana would make sure she never got the chance. 

Morgana might have wished for allies with more ruthless determination but she could not afford to be too choosey. She had received some aid from the Druids but little more than food, shelter and- not especially welcome- cryptic advice. The Druids gave her succor even as they got increasingly friendly with Arthur. Morgana’s lip curled in disgust. They refused to commit fully to any side in the feeble hope that they could be relevant to both. Even though Morgana knew she ought to feel some gratitude toward Druids, they had helped her and protected her sometimes at some risk to themselves, she did not trust their unwavering faith in their own mysteries or their victim’s morality.

Not that all Druids were alike, Morgana reminder herself. Mordred was completely unique. He had offered to help her more than once and he had occasionally brought her presents. Once he brought her a knife and a pendant, which were clearly powerful even if Morgana did not entirely understand how. He made her promises, too. He had not always kept them but Morgana sensed a power in him that made her reluctant to spurn him. It also made her reluctant to fully embrace him. She did not understand the young man. She did not understand what he wanted of her and so she kept him at a carful distance. If she ever made an alliance with Mordred she would do so when she was in a position of strength.

On that final thought the spell casting came to an end. Morgana hurried to inspect their work.

“Well?” Blaise had followed Morgana but Niniane had disdained such an unpriestessly display of vigor.

“Nothing seems amiss, Blessed Mother.” Blaise replied. “The barrier has formed properly.”

Morgana knelt beside the barrier. She traced along the curve of the magic line they had created and reached out for the power there. They had made a circular boundary approximately seventy feet in diameter. The closed gate of the Castle Perilous lay along the circumference of that boundary so that no one could enter or leave the Castle without crossing the circle. Morgana admired their precision. It had not been easy. The Castle Perilous was made of powerful magic and it exerted an influence upon magic done in its vicinity. It appeared as though Morgana and her companions had successfully compensated for the Castle though. 

“Blessed Mother?” The shout came from one of the soldiers that had been sent to find water and restore their supply. Morgana ignored him as her attention was still caught in the contemplation of her handy work. “We caught this yokel snooping around. What do you want done with him?”

“Cut his throat and leave his body in the marsh.” Niniane replied absently.

“Hey! That’s not called for. You can’t just-“ The indignant complaints were cut off with a sudden groan and then a cough as the speaker was punched in the belly.

Morgana froze at the sound of the captive’s voice but in the next instant she was on her feet. “Here! Bring him here!” She shouted to the two men who had already turned away with their captive ready to carry out Niniane’s order. 

As they obeyed Morgana, the two guards dragged their prisoner- hands bound behind him and a blindfold over his eyes- across the boundary that Morgana and the others had just created. As soon as he passed the boundary, the man shrieked and jerked in his captors’ arms. The men did not pause but dragged their prisoner forward another few yards before dropping him at Morgana’s feet.

“Does he have magic?” Blaise asked coming up beside Morgana. Even Niniane had approached, a quizzical eyebrow raised.

“Some, I hear.” Morgana murmured staring down at the bound man before dropping to her knees and seizing the man by the hair. She jerked his head toward her pulling the blindfold down roughly in the same movement. His eyes fluttered and Morgana let go of his hair to slap his cheeks then shake him by the shoulders. 

“Come on, come on. Look at me, you little snake. Look at me!” Morgana commanded through gritted teeth. She continued pulling, pushing and slapping until the man regained enough sense of himself to try and crawl away from her. Morgana pushed him one more time and repeated. “Look at me.”

“Morgana?” The man blinked rapidly as though trying to focus as he looked up into the sorceress’s hungry face.

“Oh, Merlin.” Morgana started to laugh. “I can’t tell you how pleased I am to see you.”  
*  
The dragon’s scales did not shine so brightly nor did its eyes gleam so fiercely as the creature lay dead and bleeding into the sand. Lancelot might have felt pity for the dragon as he bent forward hands on knees struggling to fight back dizziness but his heart was hardened by the keenness of his own need. Dragging in a few more ragged breaths Lancelot pushed himself upright. His victory had not come easily. It had taken reserves of strength and stamina that had been many months buried. Lancelot reveled in the excavation of his vital qualities. Without further attention to the dragon, Lancelot took up his journey. He wondered if another dragon lay ahead and the prospect had him smiling softly to himself.

Lancelot did not encounter another dragon. Worse, the fierce desert began to diminish. There was moisture in the air and small patches of green began appearing around him. Soon, he was walking along a path on a pleasant spring day. This filled Lancelot with suspicion that warred with disappointment. 

The faint notes of a song that Lancelot could not quite remember the words too trickled into his awareness. Then came the aroma of good cooking. Lancelot felt that there must be a tavern nearby. Somewhere, just off the path, there was food, song and fellowship. Lancelot shook his head and hurried his footsteps. He had not accomplished his mission. He would not be lured into anything akin to comfort or celebration.

As he continued straight ahead, Lancelot saw a bridge appear in the distance. He hurried toward it and drew his sword when he saw that a dwarf awaited him. The dwarf leaned casually against a post and regarded Lancelot as though he were not particularly impressed.

“Let me pass.” Lancelot demanded. Unlike dragons there did not seem to be much credit in battling a dwarf no matter that common opinion had it that they were tougher than they appeared.

“What’s your hurry, Sir Lancelot?” The dwarf asked without shifting himself.

“I seek the Cup of Life. You would do well not to hinder me.”

“Oh, dear me. I wouldn’t dream of it.” The dwarf held his hands up and shook his head in an exaggerated gesture of ‘by no means’. “I must, however, ask a question before you proceed- begging your indulgence, Sir Knight.”

It did occur to Lancelot that the dwarf was now making fun of him. In response he prepared his most stoic and punctilious courtesy. Lancelot had no intention of allowing himself to be needled into any unbecoming display. “Ask as you must, Master Dwarf.”

“That’s most noble of you, Sir Lancelot, most noble and benevolent.” The dwarf said fulsomely. Lancelot waited.

“Tell me why you seek the Cup, Sir Lancelot, and you may pass on.”

“Redemption.” Lancelot said easily and honestly. It was not the dwarf’s business but Lancelot knew intuitively that insisting on that would not end successfully.

“Be on your way then.” The dwarf pushed himself up from his slouch and stepped aside.

Lancelot watched the dwarf out of the corner of his eye as he cautiously walked across the bridge. When he had reached the other side without incident, he inclined his head in thanks. The dwarf waved him on his way.

Beyond the bridge Lancelot looked down into a valley and finally saw the object of his quest. The Cup of Life stood on a pedestal in the center of three concentric circles of flame. Skin prickling with excitement Lancelot hurried downward, eager to cross the fire and retrieve his prize.  
*  
When at long last the cave opened into a broad space that quickly led outside, Percival barely restrained himself from shouting his relief. He stood in the sunshine and stretched his arms and legs as wide as they would go. He jumped and spun in a circle letting his arms flail as they would without fear of encountering any impediment. 

After reacquainting himself with the joy of movement Percival became aware that he was still very sticky with blob residue. A stream would be welcome but as he looked about himself he did not see any source of water. He did see, however, that a path stretched out before him. With one more great swing of his arms, Percival set forth.

The day was pleasant and Percival enjoyed the sights and sounds and smells. Stuck in the cave he had a sense of being buried and now he had a comparative sense of freedom. After a while Percival found that he was humming a tune he was not familiar with. Somewhat surprised, he paused and realized that he could hear the melody. Percival had a moment’s concern that he was hearing things. Maybe down in that cave he had hit his head one too many times.

It worried him but Percival was also starting to register the smell of food. It was one thing to hear imaginary music but did people imagine smells. Logically, Percival didn’t see why a person couldn’t but he still felt that while one sense might become a little unreliable the chances that two senses would be compromised were considerably less.

As the music and the food smells might be real or as close to real as anything could be in a magic castle Percival considered investigating but he wasn’t sure what would happen if he left the path. Paths were meant to be followed. That was just about the definition of a path. If he went another way he might not ever find his way back. That prospect was frightening- perhaps more so than it reasonably should have been.

Deciding to think about it, Percival sat on the ground. His bruises throbbed but the sun shone warmly down upon him. As time passed, Percival realized that he wasn’t really considering his dilemma. He was daydreaming. He might go to sleep if he continued to sit still. Percival was just about to haul himself to his feet and continue down the path (as he could not make up his mind to leave it) when he caught sight of a cat walking nimbly through the long grass.

“Hello there.” Percival greeted the animal.

The cat was a sleek orange and white creature and it turned its head at Percival’s greeting.

“Where might you be off to on this fine day?” Percival remained where he was so as not to alarm the cat. “Are there magic mice in this castle for you? Are you on your own quest?”

The cat diverted from its course long enough to walk a large circle around Percival. It watched him curiously but seemed to decide that- despite his size- he was not a threat. Percival held out his hand for the cat to sniff but the animal disdained to approach so near.

“Perhaps I have something for you.” Percival cooed as he pulled his pack toward him and started rummaging. “But you will have to come closer. Hm? Good cat?” 

Percival and his possessions had been thoroughly slimed but protected in the folds of his pack and then wrapped in oilcloth Percival found a strip of venison that seemed to have been preserved. He took a bite and then held out the meat.

The cat stalked deliberately toward the venison, which Percival placed on the ground. Delicately the animal sniffed the treat then deciding that it was acceptable began to nibble.

When the venison had been eaten Percival tentatively held out his hand and the cat graciously consented to let him give it a few strokes perhaps in the expectation that more meat would be forthcoming. When it wasn’t the animal turned to walk away. Percival sighed contentedly. The cat’s fur was wonderfully soft and the interaction had cheered him tremendously. Percival wondered about the animal. Who did it belong to? The luxurious fur and dainty manners indicated that someone cared for the cat. Did it live in the Castle Perilous? Did the Fisher King keep pets? Percival smiled again and decided he had wasted enough time. He got up to leave. But, as he got to his feet, he saw that the cat had paused a few yards away and was studying him.

“Sorry, there’s no more.” Percival said spreading his hands and turning. The cat though returned and walked another wide circle around him before pausing again. Curious, Percival took a few steps nearer the cat. As he approached the cat turned and began walking away. Disappointed Percival was once again ready to resume his walk down the path when the cat took a few steps toward him.

“Shall I follow you?” Percival asked. The direction the cat seemed to be urging him toward was the same one the music was coming from. The cat did not reply. “I’ll follow you.” Percival decided. As long as Percival had a companion the thought of making a new path no longer intimidated him.

In the strange way of this place the landscape changed again as Percival walked. He was now in a castle corridor. He talked to the cat as he walked. Percival was generally a man of few words but talking to animals was different somehow. In any case, he hardly said anything important. Mostly he just said what pretty fur the cat had and how it probably knew all the best sleeping spots in this fey place.

Suddenly, the cat dashed ahead. Afraid to lose the animal Percival sped up to keep pace until he rounded a corner and came to an abrupt halt. He had arrived in a large and spacious room with wide windows and gauzy curtains. A harp was set near one of the windows and he realized that this was where the music was coming from. A woman sat before the harp strumming idly. As Percival came in the woman jumped to her feet and took a step backward. Percival took a step backward as well almost as surprised as the lady. For its part the cat strode across a thick rug, leapt gracefully onto what was almost certainly the lady’s bed, fell on its side and began cleaning its paws.

“I’m so sorry!” Percival yelped averting his eyes before realizing that was an overreaction. “I was following the . . . Is the cat yours?” 

“Llyan belongs to herself.” The lady said a little breathlessly. “But, she spends time with me.”

Percival nodded into the awkward silence. The lady was quite comely. She had cascades of blond hair flowing to her waist. She wore a red dress that did nothing to obscure the fact of her curving hips and generous bosom. She was surrounded by fine furniture and luxurious fabrics that seemed not only appropriate but mandatory. There was a table set as for a feast and Percival recognized now that the aroma that had wafted by him earlier was hot berry pie with heavy cream. Despite the temptation of food and comfort, Percival would have very much liked to withdraw from the opulence and serenity of this lady’s bower except he was struck by an incongruity that drew his attention. 

There was a length of silver chain. One end was bolted to the floor and the other coiled its way around the room to a manacle bound around the lady’s ankle. This detail was so at odds with its surroundings that Percival wondered if perhaps he did not properly understand what he saw.

“I do apologize for intruding. I am Sir Percival.” Percival hoped that the formality of his title might in some way be a reassurance to the lady who was otherwise confronted by a large man still somewhat sticky from his encounter with the cave blob. “Um, are you in any difficulty? Might I be of assistance?” Percival asked, eyes going to the chain of their own accord.

“There is no difficulty as you can see, Sir Percival. I am, however, pleased to receive company. Would you be on a quest?” The lady had walked across the floor to her bed where she paused to stroke Llyan’s fur. The chain rustled delicately as she moved. Might it be decorative, Percival wondered to himself.

“Yes, Lady . . .?”

“I, I believe I was once called Cariad. Forgive me, I have been a long time without anyone to talk to.” Cariad said gesturing to the table as though inviting Percival to partake. Percival shook his head to decline. The heavily laden table groaned with Percival’s favorite foods yet the knight was too self-conscious to eat. Without taking any offense Cariad went to a chair, seated herself and then gestured that Percival should also sit.

“I am on a quest, Lady Cariad.” Percival didn’t want to get the chair’s plush upholstery dirty. He was aware that there remained a certain sliminess to his person but he felt awkward standing and so he perched on the chair edge. “But, forgive me, are you trapped?” Percival blushed hot and wished he had not sat down. It felt so ridiculous. Surely, if she were trapped she would have mentioned that by now. Yet, Percival didn’t think he could have misinterpreted the chain.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I don’t know if I would leave this place if I were able and thus I don’t know if I am trapped.” Cariad explained.

“Doesn’t the very fact of the . . .” Percival gestured, “incline you to leave.”

“Should it?”

“It has been my experience that people are attracted to that which is forbidden to them- especially if whatever has been forbidden seems to have been forbidden arbitrarily or maliciously.”

“A credible observation,” Cariad nodded to acknowledge the wisdom of that. “But, I am at peace here. I do not know where I would go if I were to leave or what I would do. I remember only flashes of how I lived before I came here. I- I think I was happy once but then there was- there was a lot of blood and people screaming. Cariad shook her head and Percival was afraid she might begin to cry but she composed herself and finished softly. “It is better if I remain where I am.”

Though he did not want to upset her, Percival still wanted to argue. He could not guess what had happened to her before and though he was full willing to believe it had been awful the chain offended him. “If the chain were removed then you would not necessarily need to leave. You could stay here but know you stayed because you wished to.”

Cariad smiled but it was sad and a little distant. “I fear the only way to remove the chain is with the key, which I do not have. Tell me, why have you come here, Sir Percival?” This question had the ring of someone wanting to change the subject.

“I am looking for the Cup of Life.” Percival had more to say on the matter of the chain but he suspected that he would alienate Cariad if he continued to insist.

“So I would have guessed.” Cariad smiled. “But, tell me why do you seek it?”

“To keep it from those who would use it to do harm.” Percival answered but continued after a second’s pause. “And because I was told to find it.” This last was added to mitigate what Percival feared might be taken to be the grandiosity of the first answer.

“I have heard worse reasons.”

“Have there been many people who have come looking for the Cup?”

“There are always people looking for the Cup.” Cariad sounded suddenly tired.

“Well, I came here with several companions. They are as likely to find the Cup as I am- more, really. If you like, I could look for your key for you.” Percival offered.

“And what of the one who told you to search for the Cup?” Cariad asked dubiously.

“Arthur?” Percival knew that Arthur was ambivalent about the Cup of Life as he was ambivalent about all magic. Percival shared some of this ambivalence. Burned into Percival’s mind was the image of Morgana’s army of ghouls murdering his family. Even if magic was not intrinsically evil it was not to be taken lightly or treated casually. Percival had been uncomfortable to see how the Magic Market had turned into something like a festival with children running about being drawn into all sorts of wondrous sights without a true understanding that magic was not for play. 

Even so, Percival was willing to trust in Arthur’s judgment. He trusted Arthur because he knew how seriously Arthur took magic. Arthur thought about it, worried about it. He stayed up nights wondering if he was doing enough to protect against the evil magic could do. He stayed up nights wondering if he was doing enough to nurture the good magic could do. He pondered how those with magic could be protected from those without magic and vice versa. He fretted over the possibility of becoming over-reliant on a force that would always be alien to the overwhelming majority of his people. He worried about walking away from opportunities to help those same people. It was Percival’s nature to want to spare Arthur as much of his worry as he could and yet Percival did not think he could respect let alone serve a man who did not struggle with such questions.

“Honestly, I think Arthur would just as soon I help you.”

“’Help me’?” Cariad murmured to herself. Then, suddenly, she seemed to make a decision. “What would you think if I were to tell you that the Cup was over in the cupboard?”

There was a cupboard at the far end of the room. Percival’s eyes went to it automatically. “I would think you were joking.”

Cariad lifted her eyebrows and inclined her head inviting Percival to go and look. Tentatively the knight rose and walked across the room. Cariad walked with him but she ran out of chain while the cupboard was still out of her reach.

Eyes darting from Cariad to the cupboard and back again, Percival opened the cabinet door. Nothing leaped out at him as he had partially expected. Instead the Cup of Life sat prosaically on the shelf inside. There was a small key beside it.

“You can only choose one.” Cariad warned softly.

Percival nodded and took the key.  
*  
It didn’t take long for Morgana’s soldiers to catch Merlin once he all but stumbled across their path. He ran for a while but they chased him down without difficulty. They did not use more violence than necessary to subdue him- which Merlin appreciated- but they tied his hands behind his back and covered his eyes with a strip of cloth. This bespoke an abundance of caution that Merlin noted for further consideration. 

As Merlin stumbled along blindly he felt his stomach begin to flutter with nerves. He had done everything in his power to convince Arthur that he was confident- and he was- but he could not help a certain trepidation. It would not have done to let Arthur see that though. It was bad enough the way Arthur had looked at him, as though Merlin were being deliberately or- perhaps more offensively- carelessly hurtful. That was not the way of it and the accusatory glare was altogether unwarranted. Merlin would have liked to be indignant. Merlin was not seeking danger for his own amusement nor was he looking for an opportunity to show off or anything like that. Arthur had no business being so harsh and making Merlin feel all trembly and anxious in response. 

In order to calm Arthur’s mood, Merlin had delayed many minutes listening to Arthur talk out all sorts of contingencies; planning in case this thing happened or changing strategies if this other thing happened, guessing what Morgana wanted, speculating about the interests of her companions, weighing the chances of this unpredictable outcome against the chances of that unknowable result. Merlin had almost suggested that Arthur draw a diagram to help him keep all of these if-then’s straight. Merlin had refrained from speaking though because his previous attempts at even the mildest humor had met with a disproportionately severe reaction. Merlin could not understand Arthur’s anger. It felt like it came out of nowhere and went against an unspoken deal between them. Merlin would have liked to spend more time speculating about why Arthur had suddenly gotten so angry over a typical- well, not typical but certainly not unprecedented- situation but he was distracted as one of the men who had been dragging him along called out to someone up ahead.

Merlin had expected Morgana to answer and he felt a stab of worry when someone else spoke to casually order Merlin’s death. Merlin quickly began to babble his objections to summary execution but he was cut off suddenly by a fist in the belly. Merlin grunted and was about to begin complaining again when he heard a familiar voice. Relieved, he gave no resistance as the guards began tugging him toward Morgana. Merlin was just formulating a greeting- something a little cheeky but not too much- when a powerful wave of nausea overcame him. He groaned and lost his balance. He wanted to curl up into a ball but the men holding him would not let him go. He went limp in their grasp, his breath heaving in distress. The vertigo was almost too strong for any coherent thought but Merlin instinctively groped for his magic. When he felt it within himself vital and undiminished he should have known relief but he couldn’t feel much of anything beyond his pitching stomach. He wanted to do a spell but it was like trying to do math while someone was kicking him in the head. He could. He knew how. He was just too distracted.

Someone had taken hold of Merlin’s shoulders. Words were spoken but it registered as no more than random sound. The blindfold was pulled down, away from his eyes. The sudden brightness made him moan and he was sure he would throw up. He didn’t but he continued to want to as he was pinched and slapped. After a few moments Merlin began to regain confidence that he was not actually going to die. 

“Morgana?” Merlin focused on Morgana and spoke his former friend’s name in an effort to make her stop hitting him for a moment. It worked and Merlin let his eyes fall closed as he marshaled his faculties.

“Do you know this man?” The woman- the one who had spoken first- asked. Merlin wasn’t quite ready to try and look at her. He needed to figure out the power dynamics here but he was still recovering.

“To my everlasting regret.” Morgana answered. “This is Merlin, my brother’s servant.”

“Why isn’t he with his master?” A male voice. The other sorcerer.

“Does he look like he could pass for a hero?” Morgana reached out to pinch Merlin again. 

“But, he has magic? He must if the barrier did this to him.” The woman spoke again. She had been called ‘Blessed Mother’ was she supposed to be the leader here? 

“Ha! He has magic.” Scorn was the only thing keeping Morgana’s rage in check. The enormity of the insult- the idea that Gaius would teach magic to a talentless little nothing like Merlin while he drugged Morgana into near insensibility- was too great for Morgana to think about directly. “Not much, though. Just enough to get him into trouble.”

“He doesn’t look well. Are you sure?” Niniane and Blaise both gathered around Merlin looked down on him with assessing eyes.

“He’s exaggerating.” Morgana said rising to her feet and dusting off her hands. “He’s lazy with a coward’s cunning.” Morgana was on the point of heaping more contempt on Merlin but she took a breath. She had not expected such a powerful surge of emotion to come upon her seeing her old friend. She could not indulge her anger now though. She let disdain draw her away and cool her temper. Violence boiled within her but she could be the serene priestess. She had played Uther’s doting ward and after that performance surely she could do anything. Yes, Morgana was oh so reasonable, oh so patient- the perfect image of exactly what you most needed her to be right up until the second the knife went in.

“Why don’t you show us some of your magic, Merlin?” Morgana invited in a too sweet voice. “Let us see what you can do. Show us the great sorcery Gaius taught you to help my brother.”

Niniane and Blaise exchanged a look. There was curiosity in their eyes. Merlin forced himself into a sitting position. He looked up at the three magicians surrounding him through his lashes. None of them leapt out at him as sympathetic.

“Let’s see your magic, boy.” Blaise demanded quietly nudging Merlin with the toe of his boot.

Merlin wet his lips and looked at the man more directly. “I’ll need my hands.”

Morgana snorted derisively at this but Blaise bent down and loosed the rope around Merlin’s wrists. As he did so Blaise’s and Niniane’s postures changed subtly. They didn’t know what to expect and they were preparing themselves.

While he had been flailing under the influence of the boundary’s magic, the rope had thoroughly abraded the skin of his wrists. Merlin grimaced at the discomfort as he massaged some feeling back into his hands.

“No more stalling, Merlin.” Morgana chided still in her sweet voice.

Just as she finished taunting him Merlin began speaking urgently in the old tongue. The words spilled over each other clumsily. He raised his hands, fingers stabbing through the air in large gestures. Niniane and Blaise focused intensely on Merlin. Their own hands half raised but Morgana just smirked. After several seconds, a small stone lying on the ground rose up into the air. It hovered, wobbling, before heading toward Morgana at about the speed a child might lob a ball. The stone slowed perceptibly as it moved even though the words of Merlin’s spell grew louder and his arms waived with more intensity.

The stone stopped completely nearly a foot from Morgana’s forehead. Merlin was still gesticulating wildly but then he stopped suddenly. He drew in two ragged breaths and his whole attitude radiated defeat.

Morgana’s smirk morphed into something a little more feral. “Oh, dear. That wasn’t exactly what you had in mind, was it?” With a small flick of her fingers, the stone turned in the air and hurtled back toward Merlin. It was going to strike him hard between the eyes but at the last possible moment Morgana made one more gesture and the stone turned at a right angle, traveled several feet then fell to the ground. “Ah, there you see? No need to feel bad. It seems like I could do with some practice too.”

Watching Morgana gloat was not pleasant. The degree of satisfaction she took in it was confusing more than anything else. Had it always been like that, Merlin asked himself as he slumped before her. It was difficult to remember. Merlin had rarely been the target of Morgana’s one-upmanship before she left Camelot but perhaps she had always reveled when others fell short of their goals. Even as Merlin endured Morgana’s crowing he watched any apprehension Blaise or Niniane might have had of him melt away. He was harmless- even pathetic. Morgana ordered that his hands be retied but this was a matter of cruelty not security.

“Tell me about Emrys?” Niniane demanded. The question was expected. Morgana had retreated with Ninane and Blaise for a moment while Merlin’s hands were tied again but they were back now having agreed to gain as much advantage from interrogating their prisoner as they could.

“I don’t know anything about him.”

“It’s like breathing for you, isn’t it?” Morgana mused almost to herself as Blaise repeated Ninane’s question more threateningly.

“I don’t know.” Merlin repeated. “He appears. He does some magic. He disappears. That’s all I know.”

“When does he appear? What magic does he do? Where does he go?”

“I don’t know. How would I? When he’s around I try to stay out of his way.”

“But he’s here?” Blaise demanded. “He came to the Castle Perilous?”

Merlin didn’t answer and a spark of defiance was visible in his eyes. Blaise kicked him in the belly. Merlin curled in on himself.

“Let me talk to him.” Morgana’s words halted Blaise before he could deliver a second kick. Blaise looked to Niniane who appeared undecided. 

“We understand each other, don’t we, Merlin? He’ll talk to me.” Morgana coaxed.

“Not bloody likely.” Merlin muttered not quite under his breath.

“The enmity of former friends.” Niniane pronounced. Morgana nodded as though the priestess had said something insightful.

“She’s not on your side.” Merlin volunteered. “Whatever she’s told you, whatever she’s promised is a lie. She’ll betray you the second she has anything to gain from it.”

“So cynical, Merlin. I’ve never wanted anything more than for magic to regain its rightful place and for those who have persecuted it to be punished. Niniane and I are both priestesses of the Old Religion. That is an unbreakable bond.” 

Morgana, standing behind Blaise and out of Niniane’s field of vision, gave Merlin a wink. Merlin shook his head at this brazenness. Ninane’s tight-lipped smile indicated that she was not necessarily deceived but even so she retreated with Blaise to see to other matters of the camp.

In the silence following the departure of the two sorcerers, Morgana seated herself near Merlin. She put her chin in her hand and regarded him with curiosity. She felt much calmer now. She had been as a tiger who stalks large prey eschewing easier meat for the glory of a great kill. Then when she is just on the point of striking, a mouse suddenly scurries across her field of vision to startle her and trigger a disproportionate hunger. Things felt back in control now. Merlin was a tasty morsel but she did not want to spoil her appetite. Though she had the man who had so often and unaccountably been a thorn in her side at her mercy she had not yet achieved the victory she was anticipating so she would continue to wait. Merlin returned her scrutiny in his typically insolent manner. Morgana contemplated what would be involved in breaking him of that sort of habit and she smiled.

Seeing Morgana’s lips curve, Merlin felt a wave of despondency. Morgana’s regal grace was overshadowed now by something more predatory. The smoothness of her former beauty had been worn away into something different, something somehow both more and less natural. “I’m not going to tell you anything.”

“Now, Merlin, we both know that’s not true.” Morgana reached forward and smoothed a lock of hair back from Merlin’s forehead. “Why don’t we start with something easy? When did Emrys figure out that the Cup of Life was in the Castle Perilous?”

Merlin didn’t answer.

“Oh, come now, what harm can telling me do? I mostly know already. Emrys must not have much of a gift for prophecy. We’re, what, a twelve day ride from Camelot? He can’t have figured it out much more than two weeks ago then, can he?”

“What makes you think we’re here for the Cup?” Merlin asked. “You’re not as clever as you think you are, Morgana.”

Morgana delivered a casual backhand that rocked Merlin to the side before he was able to right himself. “With all your practice, I’d expect you to be a bit cleverer in your lies. I am a Seer. I know you have come for the Cup. I also know, by the way, that you fetch and carry for Emrys when he’s around so don’t try to tell me you don’t know anything about him. I am the rightful Queen of Camelot. I know what goes on in my kingdom.”

“Why bother asking me anything then if you’re so sure you know already?”

“Are you really going to be so tedious as to demand I cause you some terribly painful injury before you will take me seriously? You’ve always treated Arthur like a fool- and I admit I’ve found that very amusing in the past- but I am not my brother. Treat me with the same contempt and you will regret it.”

Merlin’s face settled into stubborn lines. Morgana sighed theatrically as she signaled to two of the guardsmen hovering nearby. In response to her gesture an arm was wrapped around Merlin’s throat and he was jerked up onto his feet. The second guard drew a long knife and looked to Morgana for instructions.

“At first I thought we’d start with one of your ears.” Morgana had gotten to her feet as well and was watching Merlin with keen interest. “But clearly listening is already such a struggle for you. How about an eye, then? Yes, let’s start with an eye.”

The guard with the knife took a step forward. Merlin struggled as the man holding him tightened his grip to try and keep him still. “No! Morgana, please.” Merlin’s eyes, wide in panic, focused on a point in the distance. He twisted and turned in a futile attempt to get away from the approaching knife. “Morgana!”

There was genuine fear in Merlin’s pleas and Morgana’s eyebrows went up in surprise. She truly believed Merlin was a coward but she also knew that there was a mulish obstinacy- a sort of spiteful stubbornness- in the man that could appear to someone who did not know Merlin as well as Morgana did as resolution. Morgana had genuinely not expected that that resolution would be quickly or easily overcome. Despite her bravado she had harbored some small reservation that she might not get what she wanted from Merlin in a timely fashion.

“All right, Morgana. I’ll tell you whatever you want. Anything. All right? Just don’t. . . .” Merlin continued to plea as the second man reached out his free hand to hold Merlin’s head still as he brought up his knife. As his agitation increased Morgana half expected Merlin to squeeze his eyes tightly shut or for them to start rolling wildly like a terrified horse but Merlin was still focused on a particular spot in the distance. Morgana frowned not sure if she could trust such an easy victory. Nonetheless she raised her hand to halt the guard. When Merlin was released he could not keep his balance as his hands were still tied behind his back and he collapsed to the ground. Morgana went over to him and nudged him with her foot until he met her gaze.

“There that wasn’t so difficult was it?” She teased. “Now start from the time Emrys told Arthur about the Cup.”

Still breathing heavily Merlin nodded his acquiescence. A few more breaths and he wet his lips. Then he started to talk.  
*  
Neither Leon nor Elyan said more than a few words about what they had experienced before meeting one another. Their respective ordeals had weighed heavily on them but the weight was greatly diminished by the other’s presence. Further, their reunion had kindled in both knights a renewed determination to get on with their quest and return to the world they knew as soon as possible. Thus, only a minute or so after meeting, they were once again walking down the path to the bridge. As the two men drew closer they saw a figure waiting. Exchanging a look the two approached cautiously.

“Hello.” Elyan called out as the two knights came within a dozen feet of the dwarf waiting at the front of the bridge.

“Greetings, sir knights.” The dwarf answered placidly.

“We are knights of Camelot and we are seeking the Cup of Life. If you have any information as to its whereabouts we would be grateful if you would share it.”

“Certainly. The Cup lies just ahead, beyond this bridge and but a little ways further.” The dwarf replied and once again Elyan and Leon exchanged looks.

“Thank you very much.” Elyan took a step forward but the dwarf came to his feet and held his walking stick out to block the bridge as though it were a spear.

“I cannot permit you to cross the bridge, gentlemen, without answering a question.”

Leon, who had been watching Elyan and the dwarf’s interaction up until that point with a sort of bemused fascination, suddenly became very alert. 

“What do you want to know?” Elyan asked proceeding in the same generally friendly tone he had been using all along.

“Simply this, why do you seek the Cup of Life?”

“Can we discuss it?” Elyan asked indicating Leon who looked a lot more hostile than he had a minute before.

“It’s no skin off my back.” The dwarf shrugged.

“What do you think?” Elyan asked quietly after he and Leon retreated a few steps.

“It’s banditry- obstructing a common thoroughfare in order to extort something of value.”

“Leon, this isn’t Camelot.” Elyan was somewhat amused at Leon’s reaction. The man couldn’t stop being a knight on patrol regardless of the situation. “This isn’t even Orkney. I don’t actually know where this is but I’m willing to bet the fellow is within his rights . . . or following custom or something.”

Leon had to acknowledge Elyan’s point and he took a deep breath to disperse his original affront. “I suppose we have to answer?”

“We could rush him. Don’t know if that’s the right strategy though. As questions go, this one seems pretty harmless.” Elyan shrugged but then his eyes lit with a sudden idea. “We could say we want the Cup to restore balance to . . . to magic or whatever, you know, might need balancing.” 

“Do you want to restore balance?” Leon asked surprised.

“Well, I’m not against it and, more to the point, it sounds good.” Elyan remembered snippets of stories and songs and it seemed that the Old Religion was keen on balance.

“But think about it. Can you really countenance the idea of a life for a life? Do you want to live in a world where your success necessarily comes at the price of someone else’s failure? Must we build Camelot’s prosperity on the backs of our neighbors? If that is the way it has to work then there can be no such thing as progress. That’s the opposite of what we are trying to do.”

“I hadn’t thought about it that way.” Elyan murmured and he hadn’t. “I’m not saying you’re wrong, Leon, but I still think balance may be the right answer.”

“Even though it isn’t true?”

“True? I don’t think he’s asking for what’s true. He’s asking ‘what’s the answer to the riddle’, ‘what’s the password’. True doesn’t come into it.”

“Maybe . . .” Elyan’s explanation seemed plausible to Leon. The other knight was correct that saying they had come to restore balance- if that even made sense- sounded good. “But, I don’t like it.”

“So, what do you suggest?”

“I don’t know. Nothing especially pithy jumps to mind.” Leon remembered the resolution he had come to while crawling across the narrow bridge in darkness just hours before. He was done playing games. He wasn’t going to try to guess the right answer. If he stuck to that resolve then he should answer truthfully. That wasn’t exactly difficult. Leon knew why he had come looking for the Cup and he considered his reasons justified. He just wasn’t sure he could express his reasons succinctly. There were a lot of reasons and they were all fairly obvious. Explaining the obvious though was often harder than one would expect.

“Well, it’s up to you but we have to say something.” Elyan could sympathize with Leon’s feelings but he still thought that he was on the right track with the balance thing and he was loath to give it up even if it wasn’t a genuine reflection of his motivation.

“Let’s say we want the Cup so that we can make sure it doesn’t make any more monsters. Does that sound all right?” Leon knew very well that this wasn’t a great answer but the question they’d been asked hadn’t given him much to work with. Elyan nodded, resigned to the boring if mostly honest answer.

To the surprise of both knights, the dwarf stood aside when Elyan told him that they were seeking the Cup to keep it from misuse. The two could not resist sharing a look. “So you don’t mind if we go on?” Elyan asked.

“Nope.” The dwarf answered settling himself at the foot of the bridge in the same place he had been when they first met him. “The Cup’s just ahead. Keep to the path and you can’t miss it.”

“Thanks.” Leon murmured as he passed by. The dwarf nodded acknowledgement but did not turn his gaze.

When the bridge was crossed Elyan allowed himself to relax a bit. He hadn’t trusted that they would really be allowed to go forward. “That was odd.” The knight commented.

“I honestly don’t understand.” Leon who was still waiting for something bad to happen answered at Elyan’s side.

“Well, maybe you were right and dull and straightforward was the proper way to go.”

Leon couldn’t help but chuckle a bit at that even though he remained worried.

They had not walked very far when they came upon a small rise that gave them a good view of the path ahead.

“Oh, dear.” Leon murmured as he gazed out over a valley that was surrounded by a circle of black charred earth. Within that circle was another fire-blighted ring. Past that there was a ring still burning. The flames that composed it leapt high into the air before falling almost level with the earth. Leon could not properly gauge the height reached by the flames but he guessed they surpassed the height of a man. Black smoke billowed up in thick clouds. But, within the ring of fire there was a pillar. It was difficult to see at that distance but Leon knew that the Cup of Life stood atop that pillar.

It was an arresting scene but it was not the strange fire or even the sight of their goal that had brought Elyan and Leon to a halt. Only occasionally visible through the shifting flames- there stood a red-cloaked figure. Even as Leon and Elyan stood frozen the figure charged the ring of flame. Both knights gasped, as it seemed the figure was immersed in the fire. He was briefly lost to sight but after a few seconds the figure emerged from where he had started as though the fire had proved physically impenetrable. It was Lancelot. Both knights knew it intuitively. Without needing to exchange a word or glance Leon and Elyan started to run.  
*


	11. Chapter 11

“The ground never properly dries around here.” Gawain complained quietly. His knees had grown damp from contact with the decaying leaves and vegetation that was thick on the ground. It was uncomfortable crouching, peering through underbrush toward the Castle Perilous. Gawain would have liked to be unaware of the twigs beneath him, the slight ache in his knees and the acid churning in his stomach. He would have preferred if the entirety of his consciousness were taken up with watching the interaction between Morgana and Merlin. That was how it should be. But instead of being completely focused he was nervous and distractible. It took all his self-control not to tap his foot or drum his fingers or hum tunelessly to himself. He couldn’t help glancing back at Arthur frequently. Arthur was very still and his eyes were invariably tracking Merlin’s every movement. Arthur probably was genuinely unaware of everything else- curse him.

The suspense was awful. Seeing Merlin with Morgana- not knowing what the witch would do- was almost unendurable. Every few minutes Gawain made up his mind to immediately charge Morgana’s forces just to break the tension. He knew better obviously but it was most difficult. Gawain didn’t even know why this was happening. Why were he and Arthur back in the comparative safety of the trees while Merlin was in Morgana’s hands? It didn’t make sense. 

Gawain was more scared of Morgana than he liked to admit. She had hurt him, toyed with him. Gawain told himself repeatedly that it really hadn’t been as bad as all that but Morgana filled him with paralyzing dread. He never wanted her to have power over him again. He would rather die. His great fear though was that if it came to it he wouldn’t be given the choice.

Knowing his own fear, Gawain could not conceive of how Merlin had come back from his discussion with Arthur to cheerfully announce he was going to let Morgana capture him- as strategy. Gawain couldn’t wrap his head around it. He knew their situation was not good. The best plan he could think of was to charge Morgana’s forces at dawn to create a way out for the others. This seemed a forlorn hope but Gawain knew he could charge into overwhelming odds with bravery and panache. It was even exciting in its way, to throw caution to the wind and bet everything on a single cast of the die. But, how did it help for Merlin to be captured hours before Leon and the others would emerge from the Castle?

Merlin had made an attempt at an explanation but Gawain didn’t understand and he found Merlin’s nonchalance unnerving. Strangely it was Arthur, who had come back with Merlin looking as though he wanted to take the man by the scruff and shake him until his teeth rattled, who had calmed Gawain. Arthur was clearly unhappy about the plan and yet he appeared to have been persuaded. Gawain took reassurance from that. Arthur would not put Merlin in danger for no reason therefore Morgana was either not truly a danger to Merlin or there was advantage to be gained from Merlin talking to Morgana. Perhaps, there was some magic Merlin contemplated that could only be used close up? Gawain could not hope to guess but he allowed the fact that Arthur had thought the matter over to assuage the worst of his concern. Now Gawain found himself in need of more reassurance but he didn’t know how to get it.

When Merlin had been dragged into the circle that Morgana and her fellows had marked, he had collapsed. Though Gawain and Arthur were too far to hear anything Merlin’s distress had been apparent. Gawain had been half-afraid and half-hopeful that Arthur would attempt a rescue right then. “What’s she doing to him?” Gawain murmured not expecting an answer. Arthur’s knuckles were white on Excalibur’s hilt but he stayed where he was. 

Merlin eventually seemed to recover from whatever had come over him. Gawain even let himself believe there was a chance that Merlin had faked his reaction, even though he had not told them that he planned to do that. After he recovered from that first magic, Morgana kept up a barrage of abuse. Arthur ground his teeth and Gawain chewed his nails murmuring encouragement to Merlin and defiance to Morgana.

When one of Morgana’s men pulled Merlin to his feet and another approached him with a drawn knife Arthur and Gawain both got to their feet almost without realizing it. They were too far to do anything but watch. Seconds passed but then Merlin was let go. “It was just a threat then.” Gawain sighed with relief as he returned to his crouch. Arthur didn’t say anything.

It was quieter after that. Merlin sat with his shoulders slumped and Morgana remained nearby. Arthur and Gawain watched them talk. Gawain wished he could have lost track of time. The minutes crawled by. Eventually Morgana stood up and walked back over to the priestess and priest who had been watching casually from a distance. The three talked for a while. Then, the priestess spoke to one of the men-at-arms. Not long after that, five men left the camp headed toward the woods.

“Five men, I suppose that is almost flattering.” Gawain said as he backed further into the cover of the trees before getting to his feet. He hoped his commentary wasn’t annoying Arthur- Gawain didn’t want Arthur to be annoyed with him right now- but he hadn’t been able to stop from voicing occasional observations. The silence felt smothering. He was a bit desperate for Arthur to say something even if it were only to tell him to shut up.

Arthur and Gawain moved silently toward the five men from Morgana’s camp. They moved behind them and then followed them for a few minutes. At a signal from Arthur they attacked. The first two men died before their companions were aware of the attack. The next two went down almost as quickly. The last man, who had originally drawn his sword dropped it and tried to run. Gawain lunged after him and inflicted a shallow slash across his back. The wound was not dangerous in itself but it slowed the man and Arthur was there in the next second to stab Excalibur into his chest.

Not wanting to lose any time, Arthur and Gawain pulled the dead men into the undergrowth and made a perfunctory effort to hide them with leaves and branches. Five men out of thirty-five wasn’t much and though the odds had technically been reduced neither Arthur nor Gawain felt very proud of this bit of killing. When the two men had done as much as they could in the time they were willing to spend, Gawain turned to go back to their original viewing spot. Arthur caught his arm before he could take a step.

“There is still a long way to go yet but we’re all going to get through this.” Arthur gave Gawain’s arm a squeeze but was on his way again before Gawain could decide if he had any reply. He supposed that he probably didn’t as he hunkered beside Arthur looking out toward the Castle Perilous. Yet, strangely, Gawain found it easier to be quiet.  
*  
The small key was light and felt very delicate in Percival’s hand. As he contemplated the silver key, the Cup of Life, which had stood beside it, disappeared from the cupboard. Percival had expected something of the kind but when it happened he was struck with the idea that he had made an irrevocable choice. Not that he wanted to revoke it, Percival reminded himself. 

Smiling, he held the key out to Cariad. The lady made no move to take it. Smile somewhat strained now, Percival walked over and placed the key on the table next to all the aromatic food. 

“I don’t want to leave here,” Cariad told Percival almost warily.

“Well, that’s up to you now.” Percival answered. He had not really expected gratitude or enthusiasm but he had hoped Cariad would have been at least a little pleased.

“Please go now, Sir Percival.” Cariad, who had moved so that the table now stood between her and the knight, gestured and Percival saw a door by the cabinet. He felt fairly sure the door had not been there a minute ago. “The door will lead you safely out of the Castle.”

“All right. I hope-“ Percival broke off. He didn’t know what he hoped. He worried now that he had perhaps done the wrong thing and that there might be dire consequences but he pushed those worries from his mind. If he had done wrong then there would be plenty of time to regret it later. Percival believed it was important to give Cariad a choice to go or stay and he had done that. That would have to be enough to satisfy his conscience even if Cariad herself did not want the choice. “Well, good bye, then. Take care.”

Cariad’s face did not soften and with a heavier heart than he had expected, Percival turned to leave.  
*  
“Emrys came to Camelot twelve days ago. He was in a rush. He wanted knights for a quest but Arthur didn’t want to give him any without an explanation. So, Emrys told him about the Cup of Life.” The story came easily to Merlin. Morgana had let him know what she expected to hear so Merlin just added a few details. “But, Arthur decided he wanted to go himself.”

“And why did he decide that?” Morgana’s vision of the Castle Perilous had included Arthur so even if she had not recognized Hengroen among the horses she would have known he had come but she did wonder why.

“He didn’t like the way things went last time, I guess.” Merlin shrugged uncomfortably.

Morgana smirked happily but her mood suddenly darkened. “Why does Emrys hate me? Why does he help Arthur? Why would he use his magic for Camelot?”

“I don’t think Emrys hates you, my lady. He just can’t let you destroy what Camelot can become. You said you pay attention to what happens in Camelot; can’t you see how things are changing? Can’t you see the good Arthur is doing?”

Morgana regarded Merlin’s earnest face with detachment. She shook her head. “No. Arthur has always been useless and Emrys has been against me from the beginning. It’s something else.” Morgana had given a great deal of thought to why someone like Emrys should thwart her while propping up her weak and contemptible brother. Perhaps it was jealousy. That could be it. Morgana knew she had so much potential. It was sad but there could easily be those among her own kind who would seek to hold her back. But, what of Arthur? He was so useless. How could Emrys support him- but, maybe she had answered her own question. Arthur was useless, so useless that he could be manipulated. He was the perfect cat’s paw for any power that preferred the shadows.

“What happened next?”

“Nothing. We came here. Emrys knew where he was going but he had the worst trouble trying to give directions.” Merlin’s shoulders slumped as he saw his words had simply glided over Morgana’s mind without making any impression. He had not truly expected that it would be otherwise yet somewhere deep within himself he still held onto hope.

“What happened when you came here?”

“Emrys made this castle appear and then you turned up.”

“Merlin, you are deliberately glossing over details and it is starting to make me angry.”

If his hands hadn’t been tied behind his back, Merlin would have flung them in the air in exasperation. “What am I not telling you?”

“How did Emrys summon the Castle?”

“Magic.”

Morgana struck Merlin a sharp slap across the face.

“I don’t know how Emrys did it.” Merlin protested. “It was too complicated for me to follow. He just did it.” 

“All right. What happened after the Castle was drawn back into the world.”

“A man appeared- out of nowhere, in front of the castle.” His eyes were cast down and reluctance was evident in his voice. “He just showed up and invited us to get on with the quest.”

“But not you? What did the man say- exactly?” Morgana lifted Merlin’s chin and held it until Merlin met her eyes. She smiled encouragingly.

“He said, ‘Welcome knights, heroes, champions.’”

“Not you then.” Morgana laughed.

“It wasn’t just me!” As soon as the last word left his lips, Merlin closed his mouth tightly as though realizing he should not have spoken.

“Oh? Who else?” Morgana cooed, exultant at Merlin’s pride induced exclamation. “Come on, Merlin who else didn’t count?”

As though trying to make the best of it Merlin tipped his chin up at Morgana. “Emrys. Emrys isn’t in the Castle. You haven’t trapped him Morgana. He’s too clever for you. After Arthur and the knights went in the Castle, Emrys told us to wait for him and he went off on his own. But, he’ll be coming back. Then, you’ll just see.”

The rise and fall of Morgana’s chest betrayed her suddenly deep breaths but otherwise she was very still. Emrys, she had come here in part to kill Emrys. She had seen him in her vision of Arthur and the Cup and so she had known she would have to deal with him. At first knowing that had filled Morgana with despair because Emrys frightened her to her marrow. He was an unknown force of malevolence that tracked her, followed her like a shadow and could spring upon her at any moment. But, Morgana Pendragon was not a woman to despair for long. Fear began to make room for guile. She began to think and to plan. 

It had been such a good plan, one that took best advantage of Morgana’s singular foresight. Morgana knew she could not match Emrys in an open fight but if she knew where he would go and what he would do then she wouldn’t need to. She would be waiting for him as he left the Castle Perilous. No matter how cautious a wizard he might be he would be taken off-guard. The magic boundary Morgana and her temporary allies had constructed would incapacitate him the moment he stepped across it and then she would kill him. She would do it quickly as her men subdued the knights with him. She would resist the temptation to understand her nemesis or seek an explanation. She would just kill him and he would be dead. Then, Morgana would have the Cup of Life as well as what she would need to make proper use of it.

In her daydreams, Morgana would imagine killing Arthur in front of Emrys. She didn’t know if the great wizard genuinely cared about Arthur or valued him only as a piece in a game but either way Morgana wanted to watch Emrys as she destroyed the man he had betrayed her and all magickind to protect. She wanted Emrys alive to see himself defeated and Morgana triumphant but she would not risk the success of her whole plan in order to twist the knife in her enemy. No, she had decided. She would kill him quickly.

She would kill him quickly but he wasn’t where he was supposed to be. Morgana fought down panic. It was all right. She had wanted to take Emrys out of the equation early but she didn’t need to. She was still safe behind her boundary. Emrys could not cross it nor send his magic across it. She was safe. She was safe and she would still have Arthur and the Cup of Life. Perhaps she would have the chance to show Emrys the destruction of all he had worked for after all. Morgana drew one more deep long breath to reassure herself that all was still well but then her eyes narrowed. Merlin was watching her with a detached and speculative expression as though he was trying to discern her thoughts but not out of fear or even anxiety. He was studying her as though she were an interesting puzzle but not an especially challenging one.

“Emrys is not the threat to me you seem to think.” Morgana said as casually as she could. At her words a sudden change came over Merlin’s face and she could once again see his nervousness and only partially disguised fear. The change was so complete that Morgana began to doubt her original impression. Perhaps she had mistaken what she had seen and it had been shock or simple vacuity. “His magic may be strong but I am safe even from him within this circle. He would do well to fear me.”

“I didn’t see you bringing the Castle Perilous into this world on your own.” Merlin challenged. “Besides Emrys didn’t even try to go in so he must have had business elsewhere or something.”

Morgana saw an opportunity to delivers some shame and she pounced on it. “But you did try to go in, didn’t you? What happened, hm?”

It seemed a deeper color suffused Merlin’s bruised face and he said softly. “I don’t know. I tried but I couldn’t somehow. I couldn’t move forward.”

“That must have been disappointing. It must have felt as though magic itself were proclaiming your unworthiness. That must have hurt. I’m sure you’re used to it, of course. Arthur never tires of reminding you what an incompetent lack-wit you are. But, even so, it must have hurt.”

“Then again,” Morgana warmed to her topic. “You’ve never really cared what Arthur thought, have you. I used to wonder about that now and then. There were times when you two seemed almost close but there were other times when I couldn’t understand how you could endure each other’s company. Tell me the truth, did you twist Gaius’s arm to teach you magic just so, one day, you could throw it in Arthur’s face?”

It was evident from Merlin’s expression that he didn’t like what he was hearing at all but that was fuel to Morgana’s fire. She knew there was a bond between Arthur and Merlin. She did not entirely understand it but she knew she was hurting Merlin. She wanted to hurt him, needed to. She wanted to find everything he cared about, everything he took pride in and expose it all as the fraud and hypocrisy it was. She was just about to go on when a thought that had been wriggling away in the back of her mind suddenly surfaced.

“Us? You said ‘us’.”

“Who, what?” Merlin asked evidently startled.

“You said ‘us’. You said Emrys told ‘us’ to wait for him.”

“I didn’t.”

“No, you did.” Morgana was sure. At the time she had been preoccupied by Emrys but she remembered what Merlin had said. “Who is us?”

“I- I must have meant all of us. Emrys wanted everyone to wait until he came back.”

Morgana shook her head. “You said Arthur in the others had already gone into the castle.”

“Well, he still meant everyone to wait for him, didn’t he. I didn’t know how long everyone was going to be gone. I must have expected the knights to return from the castle before Emrys so I just said us- that is if I did say it. And I’m still pretty sure I didn’t. You’re trying to make something out of nothing.” The desperation of Merlin’s foundering reminded Morgana suddenly and forcefully of long ago when it had seemed the world was hers. Merlin’s haplessness had been sweet and endearing then. The memory of happier times made her angry.

“Listen to yourself. Don’t you ever get tired of playing the fool? Who else was with you when Emrys left?”

“No one.” 

“Have I finally managed to prick you pride? I won’t say I’m not pleased to find you actually have some. Answer my question, little fool, or I swear any injury to your pride will be the very least of your problems.”

For another moment Merlin maintained his silence but then his shoulders sagged. “Gawain couldn’t get into the Castle either- But, that proves it wasn’t a question of worth.” Merlin stuck his chin out defiantly as if to finish off with ‘so there.’

“Gawain?” Morgana pondered that information. She knew Gawain. She had enjoyed his company during her reign. She had had plans for him and considered that if it could be done without unduly inconveniencing herself she would like to have him back. He was brave and pretty with enough spirit to make breaking him satisfying. Why would the Castle reject him?

“He was still awfully hung over from the last night’s feast.” Merlin admitted. “But, I can’t see that being a big deal.”

Morgana nodded distracted. Merlin frowned subtly as Morgana overlooked a trail of questions he had opened for her. She was already too far down a different path. If Gawain was not in the Castle Perilous then where was he? Pursing her mouth, Morgana looked out over the landscape. It was mostly marsh with clusters of trees that grew thicker to the north. Was the knight watching from the woods? Had he run off when he realized that he was outnumbered? Maybe he had to sleep off the ale and was even now oblivious to Morgana’s presence? That would be very good.

“My lady?” Merlin broke into Morgana’s thoughts.

“Shut up.” Morgana told him absently. Gawain was just one man. Should she let him go? She could not imagine how he could affect her plans . . . yet, he might have more information about Emrys. Without another word to Merlin, she got to her feet and went over to Niniane.

Merlin watched her go. When her back was turned he let out a shaky breath. Thinking back on everything he had said, Merlin decided it had been all right. He had been uncertain what to tell Morgana about Emrys. She wanted him to be in the Castle so that when he emerged, she could kill him before the effects of her spell could wear off. He had considered letting her continue to believe that this plan would work but he had wanted to know what she would do if Emrys were not in the Castle. Morgana had taken the news with less dismay than Merlin had hoped. It was possible she didn’t believe him but Merlin didn’t think that was it. 

Perhaps she thought that if she captured Arthur she could lure Emrys across the boundary? But, Merlin had the feeling that, though Morgana feared Emrys, he was not at the center of her plot. She wanted the Cup of Life. She wanted Arthur. But, what did she plan to do with them once she had them? And where did Niniane and the others fit in? There were so many questions and though it was certainly good news that unbeknownst to Morgana Emrys was already past the magic boundary and Arthur was not in the Castle Perilous to fall right into her open arms, Morgana was still in a good position to take the Cup from the knights who had gone into the Castle. Also, Arthur was not about to leave his people so Merlin dared not think that the King was out of her reach either.

“Could I have some water?” Merlin asked the guard nearest him smiling hopefully. The guard ignored him.

“Please,” Merlin coaxed. “Just a sip. No one will mind.” The guard continued staring straight out ahead. There was no cruelty in the guard’s stare- nor even fear but something nearer to indifference. There was a dullness in him as there was in all the guards Merlin had observed here. It was as though all vice and virtue had been flattened out of them. 

Giving up on the guard, Merlin turned his attention to Morgana where she was deep in conversation with Niniane and Blaise. Merlin studied them for signs of discord but if there were any it was not immediately evident. After another minute, five men were called to the magicians. Niniane appeared to give instructions and Morgana spoke after she was finished. Then the men left the magic circle to search the surrounding area. Merlin did not let his thoughts linger long on the men. Returning his attention to Morgana, he saw that she was still talking with her fellow sorcerers. Merlin wished he could hear what they were saying but he could only watch their faces. Their expressions told him very little so he waited for Morgana to come back.  
*  
The first wall of fire presented little challenge. Lancelot leapt over the flames with little pain and less fear. As soon as he crossed the ring he saw that it disappeared leaving only a line of blackened earth where the fire had been. Lancelot noticed this but did not dwell on it. His mind was consumed with the Cup. He forgot all the misgivings he had had earlier about its possible tricksy nature. Now the Cup promised only good things, healing, redemption, salvation.

Moving on, Lancelot saw that the next barrier of fire posed a greater challenge. The flames rose and fell unpredictably and they were never less than five feet wide. Lancelot did not waste time thinking, though. He charged ahead. The heat of the fire was the heat of humiliation that scalded his heart. His screaming nerves gave voice to the anguish within him. He had always tried so hard. He had given what was demanded and never reckoned the cost. He had been loyal and brave and honorable. He had. It hadn’t always been easy but he had.

Panting, Lancelot realized that he was through the second ring of fire. Like the first, once Lancelot was beyond the circle, the flames disappeared. Without giving himself time to think Lancelot charged at the third barrier. It roared before him- a solid wall of fire.

The aggressive heat nearly knocked Lancelot backward. He choked. Thick smoke pushed into his lungs and stung his eyes. He gagged. Tears ran down his face. It wasn’t fair. When the time had come to die he had gone willingly, with a smile. He had been content in the knowledge that it was right; that it was proper that he should die and that Arthur and Merlin should live. It was unthinkable that he would disobey his Queen. It was unimaginable that he would not do his duty. He was a true knight. He had not flinched from his fate but had embraced it. He had no regrets expect that more had not been demanded of him. It had been a good life. He had been proud. It should have been over. He should have been left with the honor of the name he had made for himself intact but it had not happened that way. 

His image had been resurrected to hurt and shame his most noble Queen, his beautiful, pure Gwen. Some creature called Lancelot had brought strife where the true Lancelot would have done anything to make peace. The creature, the golem that had been him and not him had slouched off to its ignominious grave and the damage it had done had been repaired eventually but Lancelot felt the guilty weight of the stranger-self that had lived the life Lancelot had rejected.

Then there was Elaine’s Camelot.

Creeping forward inch by painful inch, Lancelot kept his eyes tightly shut against the heat and smoke. Though he could not see he imagined his flesh blistering and then turning dark, blackening, dying. Lancelot wanted to die. He wanted to die so that he could be reborn. The thing Elaine had made of him, the thing Morgana had made of him needed to be purged. He realized then that the scouring heat was welcome. Lancelot would endure this trial. He would accept the full measure of suffering to fight his way through to the Cup of Life which would restore him to the man he was supposed to be before everything had gone wrong. 

Abruptly the pain was gone. Lancelot looked around and realized he had passed the final barrier of flame- the raging inferno that had just now surrounded him had disappeared. Looking at his hands, Lancelot saw that he had not truly been burned. Though the sense of fire had consumed him it had not been real. Lancelot shrieked at this final insult and charged forward. The Cup of Life was there sitting atop its pillar. 

He grabbed for it but it wasn’t there. Lancelot’s hand seemed to move through the image of the Cup without being able to take hold of it. Again and again Lancelot tried to grasp the Cup but all he ever felt was a feather light touch that disappeared as he closed his hand.

Time passed. Again and again Lancelot reached and again and again the Cup could not be grasped. He tried hitting the cup with his sword blade. He tried shaking the pillar. He came at the Cup from every angle and at every speed but to no avail. Sometimes his anger and frustration was so overwhelming that he would scream, yell, curse at the Cup. Such invective had no more effect than he would have expected. It didn’t even make him feel better.

“Lancelot?”

“Lancelot?!” The sound of his name broke suddenly into his intense scrutiny of the Cup and Lancelot whirled around. His first instinct was to draw his sword but even as his fist closed around the hilt he recognized Elyan and Leon. Strangely though, he did not immediately let go of his sword. He took a step as though he meant to come between the Cup and the two knights who were jogging toward him.

Then, Lancelot shook his head as though trying to shake off a sudden bout of faintness. “I can’t catch hold of it.” Lancelot confessed almost piteously as the knights came even with him. Leon reached out to clasp his shoulder.

“I’ll give it a try.” Elyan offered in a soft voice. Lancelot looked in a bad way. He did not seem injured but he was pale save for two spots of high color on his cheeks. His hair was damp with sweat and his eyes seemed too bright. Thinking about his own experience Elyan wondered if the depredations of the Castle had not been too much for Lancelot to bear so soon after returning to the real world.

Reaching for the Cup was strange. It was like reaching for an object immersed in water and realizing that it wasn’t exactly where it looked like it was. Elyan had the sensation of just grasping at the edge of something but however he moved his hand the Cup was always just beyond his reach. Fascinated, Elyan tried several times before he shrugged and invited Leon to take a turn. Somewhat reluctantly the First Knight made his own attempt to take the Cup and like Elyan couldn’t seem to catch it. As Leon moved back, Lancelot took his place and resumed his futile grasping.

“There must be some trick to it.” Elyan said in consternation as he watched Lancelot’s fruitless efforts.

“Sure, but what?” Leon replied discouraged.

“I don’t know. Maybe we did answer the dwarf’s riddle wrong.”

“We could go back and ask him.” Even as Leon suggested it he realized he had no desire at all to do it. He looked around. The bleakness of the landscape mirrored his mood. He studied the charred ground around them. As they had approached, Leon and Elyan had seen Lancelot repeatedly attempt to cross the wall of flames that surrounded the Cup. It was horrible to watch and he and Elyan had run thinking that Lancelot must stop. While they were still some distance away though Lancelot broke through. As he did so the wall of flame disappeared. Lancelot did not appear to have taken wounds from the fire but Leon did not doubt that the ordeal had been intense.

“We could,” Elyan didn’t have any enthusiasm for the idea either. “I don’t know, though. I hate to give up but . . .”

“But it feels like we’ve come as far as we can.” Leon felt the same. Failure hurt but what more could they do? No one could say they hadn’t given it their best effort. “The question is how do we get out of here.”

“I suppose that there is a way out.” Elyan spoke a little breathlessly. He had meant to speak as though he were not really in doubt but hadn’t managed it.

Leon bit his lip and looked around again. He had not expected anything to be different since his last perusal of the landscape and so when he did see something it took him a while to register it. He nudged Elyan and pointed, unwilling to hope until he had independent confirmation.

“It’s a door?”

Leon sighed in relief at Elyan’s question because it was a door. A massive wooden door very much like the one he and the other knights had each gone through when they first arrived at the Castle. Nothing surrounded the door. It stood on the circumference of the outermost circle of burned earth by itself. Logic insisted that such a door could not lead anywhere but Leon had to believe it was the way out. He squeezed his eyes shut. He had not dared think about it before but the thought of being trapped in this place almost unmanned him.

“We should go.”

“Yeah,” Elyan agreed. Without taking his eyes off their escape, he turned his body and reached out for Lancelot. 

The other knight had not been paying much heed to his companions, too intent on the Cup. Now he darted away from Elyan. “No, I can get it. I just need to . . ..” Lancelot trailed off. He wasn’t sure what he needed to do but he felt like he was close.

“Lancelot,” Elyan reluctantly tore his eyes from the door to face his friend.

“No. Go on without me.”

“Lancelot,” Leon snapped suddenly angry. Neither he nor Elyan was enjoying this. It was galling for them to give up too. Lancelot’s insistence on staying even though he had to understand that it was pointless was pure vanity, vanity that he indulged at the expense of his friends. But, then Leon remembered just how recently Lancelot had come back to them and what he had come back to them from. “Lancelot, it’s not working. It’s time to go back.”

“Don’t you understand,” Lancelot cried looking up at Leon for the first time. “I can’t go back with nothing to show for it. I can’t. I won’t.”

“I understand. I really do. But there’ll be other opportunities, Lancelot. You’re the best warrior I’ve ever seen and you’re more than that. And, you know it. So, you are just going to have to let this go for now.”

Stubbornly, Lancelot shook his head. His eyes were wild. Leon knew he wasn’t thinking clearly and he was tempted take the decision out of his hands. But, Lancelot really was the best warrior he had ever seen. Leon didn’t think that he and Elyan could make Lancelot go anywhere he didn’t want to.

Once again, Leon’s frustration burst into genuine anger. Damn Lancelot. In this place, it was an act of egoism to insist upon being his own worst enemy. Yes, he was special. He was the first knight of the Round Table. He was the beginning of the new era. Could he not think on that? Leon opened his mouth; harsh words trembled on the tip of his tongue but before he could speak Elyan stepped forward.

“Lancelot, you’ve done enough here. It’s time to go home.”

To Leon’s surprise and relief Elyan’s soft words seemed to penetrate Lancelot’s mania. For a moment the knight looked torn as though he still wanted to resist but then something subtle changed in his posture and he nodded. He abandoned the pedestal and came toward Leon and Elyan. Leon grabbed his arm and pulled him, more roughly than he intended, toward them. Elyan patted Lancelot’s shoulder and they walked together toward the door with Lancelot sandwiched between them. Leon didn’t let go of Lancelot until they emerged once more into the first room of the Castle. They had all three emerged from the door Lancelot had entered.

The dim room suited none of the three men and they moved quickly toward the outside. The sky was pale with pre-dawn light. The gate was closed and there was as yet no sign of Percival. 

Dew shone wet on the grass. Elyan bent down to touch it. Then he plucked a few of the leaves. He brought them close to his face and breathed in their green and earthy scent.

“It’s like a dream,” Lancelot said morosely as he watched the wonder in Elyan’s eyes. “You can’t see that it isn’t real until it’s over.”

Leon put a hand on Lancelot’s shoulder. He, too, felt the change in the world. Yet, the analogy didn’t feel exactly right. Lacking a better one though, Leon was heartily glad to be awake again.  
*  
As the sky darkened into night it was became increasingly obvious that the men that had been sent out to capture Gawain would not be returning. Niniane was sure that meant Emrys was out there somewhere watching them. She was working herself up into a panic and Morgana regretted that she had ever shared her discovery that Emrys had not gone into the Castle. Emrys might indeed be out ther but that was no excuse for losing your nerve.

“We should take down the barrier and leave.” Niniane finally asserted after many minutes of fruitless discussion. “The plan always depended on taking Emrys out quickly and that can’t happen now.”

“We are protected from Emrys here. If we take down the barrier we will be vulnerable.” Morgana tried to be patient.

“Emrys has no quarrel with me or Blaise.” Niniane shrugged. “He may be powerful but even so fighting us would be a risk with no gain. If you’re with us he may let you go too.”

“That’s very considerate.” Morgana could no longer hide her disgust. “How can you think of running away when we are so close? If we stay Emrys can’t stop us from getting the Cup of Life nor can he protect Arthur from justice.”

“I’ll be sorry to lose the Cup.” Niniane conceded. “But avenging yourself on your brother is your obsession.”

“Do you know how many sorcerers he has murdered? How many more he has hunted, forced from their homes? Condemned to live in fear? His death is a victory for the Old Religion and for magic everywhere.”

“I’m not saying I wouldn’t be pleased to see him dead but it’s not worth risking myself over.”

“And you?” Morgana turned to Blaise.

“It’s Niniane’s decision.”

“All right,” Morgana sighed. “Perhaps you’re right.” Morgana began to pace as though to alleviate nervous energy. She flung her hands up as though arguing with herself. Niniane began to smile, pleased that Morgana was showing signs that she would be reasonable. Morgana reached the end of her pacing arc a few steps behind Niniane. In one swift movement she drew the knife from her belt and threw her left arm around Niniane’s neck. Forcing her chin up, Morgana drew her blade across the other woman’s throat. Too shocked to react Blaise was quickly seized from behind by one of two soldiers Morgana had called on when threatening Merlin. The priest died before he had a chance to cry out.

There were gasps from around the camp. Men came to their feet. A few drew swords. The two soldiers whose loyalty Morgana had managed to secure over her weeks with Niniane came to her side.

“Listen to me!” Morgana shouted holding her bloody knife aloft. “Listen! I am a priestess of the Old Religion. I have been chosen by the gods to see the future. Magic speaks through me and I tell you that our mission here is holy. These two,” Morgana gestured toward the prone figures on the ground, “chose to disobey the gods. They have paid for it. Follow me now as I do the gods’ work and you will be blessed.”

There was silence. Merlin, who had risen as far as his knees, watched the men’s faces. He saw fear and hesitation on most but there were some eyes that shone with ecstatic dedication. Silently, Merlin urged defiance. Let them turn on her. Let them see through her treachery.

“Many of you have known no other priestess than Niniane.” Morgana said as the silence lengthened. “Perhaps your grief at her failure to follow the gods’ will has unmanned you. If there be any such then go now with my blessing for not all are fit to do the gods’ work.”

The men looked at one another trying to guess their fellows’ thoughts. Eventually, one man stepped forward and regarded Morgana pleadingly. Face impassive she gestured that he was free to leave. Another man scurried to join him. Merlin held his breath. Surely there had to be more. Yet, no more men stepped forward. When the men were two steps from the barrier, Morgana’s eyes shone gold. She barked commands in the Old Tongue and the men screamed as they seemed to catch fire from within. Mercifully their struggles didn’t last long and they fell to the ground. Greasy smoke rose from their corpses.

“You are blessed my children.” Morgana soothed the remaining men. “The gods know their own and will protect those who keep faith.”

After that Morgana bent to clean her knife on Niniane’s dress. When she stood up she ordered several of the men nearby to remove the corpses beyond the barrier and dig a grave. At the end she cautioned them, “Remain within the light of the fires.”

The four men who had been assigned the grisly task began with the bodies of Blaise and Niniane. Though half a dozen fires had been lit along the boundary the firelight did not reach far into the night. Morgana watched the men work. The two men she knew were loyal stood beside her as she gazed out beyond the boundary. When the hole was dug, first Blaise and then Niniane were placed within. The gravediggers did not linger over ceremony. They were too aware of Morgana’s eyes upon them.

Next they took the bodies of the men who Morgana had killed to the grave. They rolled them onto blankets to make them easier to carry and did their work with indecent haste. When it was done they scurried back into camp. Satisfied, Morgana turned away.

It was not concern for the dead that made Morgana send men beyond the boundary. As far as she was concerned the corpses could remain where they fell as a warning to others. But, Morgana was curious. Niniane had been sure that Emrys was out there, that he was responsible for their missing men. Morgana was less sure. She didn’t know what had happened to the men but it was possible they had wandered off. Gawain might even have killed them. Five on one were long odds even for the talented Gawain but it was possible. Morgana wanted to see what would happen if she sent men out of the protection of the barrier. In the end, she was a little disappointed that nothing had.

“Oh, close your mouth, Merlin. You’ll catch flies.” Morgana said noticing Merlin for the first time since the death of Niniane and Blaise. “You’ve seen people killed before.”

“Murder and treachery are hard to witness.” Merlin replied gazing at Morgana with accusing eyes.

“Yes, much easier to do. Eh, Merlin?”

“We are nothing alike, Morgana.”

“You’d like to believe that wouldn’t you. You need me to be the liar, the murderer and the traitor. That way you never have to take a good look at yourself, do you?” Morgana took a seat on the ground beside Merlin. She was feeling more confident now. She had always planned to get rid of Niniane and Blaise but she had wanted to wait until after she had the Cup. Even though she had had to act sooner than she would have liked she congratulated herself that it had gone as well as she could have hoped. “The strange part is I don’t even know why you do it? I’d swear that, as often as not, you don’t even like Arthur. You can’t truthfully tell me you think he’s any sort of leader. I mean honestly, Arthur.”

“There’s no point in talking to you about Arthur. You can’t see or you won’t see. Of everyone, Arthur and Gwen would have been your greatest friends but you were too busy with your hurt feelings and your ambition to return Arthur’s loyalty or Gwen’s kindness. In betraying them you sealed your fate past anything you could do to me or Uther.”

“Gwen owes everything she’s ever had to me. I took her in. I was good to her. She should have been prepared to stand by me come what may but the second a nobleman deigned to cast a leering eye on the common little hussy I may as well never have existed. And as for Arthur,” Morgana paused to take a breath. “As for Arthur, I’ve never met a man with less spine, less genuine self-confidence. From his earliest days he was always looking for advice, for help, for agreement. Uther managed to beat a lot of that out of him but he never could completely break him of needing people. But, that turned out lucky for Uther in the end because if he had taught his son how to be a man then Arthur would have had the guts to fillet the old bastard when Morgause showed him his mother. Yes, Morgause told me all about that. She said that Uther had murdered Igraine and Arthur didn’t do anything about it. Morgause never hated Arthur but his weakness soon disgusted her.”

“You would have respected him for killing his father?” Merlin asked softly. “Don’t you see no lasting good could have come from that? Arthur would have hated himself. There might even have been civil war.”

“I’m not the only one who would have respected Arthur for killing that evil tyrant. Arthur may have hated himself for a while but it would have been a small price to pay for a just revenge. And there wouldn’t have been a civil war. I just killed Niniane and barely anyone wanted to do anything about it. People are sheep. The knights, the nobles, the people they all would have fallen into line.”

“Like Camelot’s knights, nobles and people did for you?”

Morgana snarled and spat. “Arthur isn’t worth anybody’s loyalty. You’re living proof that Arthur puts up with things no man with any self-respect would. Be honest- if you can- when Arthur learned that you’d been doing magic right under his nose you would have gained just a little bit of respect for him if he hadn’t forgiven you.”

“I feel sorry for you when you say things like that.”

“Really? And yet you remained curiously unmoved when you saw that I had magic in a kingdom that killed people for magic; when I was held in mortal fear by a father who did not acknowledge me; when I was drugged into near insensibility by an old man who should have helped me as he helped you but instead used his arts to keep me vulnerable and at the mercy of my enemies.”

“You think you’ve made yourself any better off now?” Merlin demanded. “Do you think you can fight Emrys all alone?”

Morgana smirked. The fact that Merlin wanted to change the subject meant she had struck near the mark. She was tempted to press her advantage. Merlin had wronged her and she wanted to see him forced to confront that harm but Morgana was also flushed with the confidence of having moved one step nearer her goal. 

“Now what makes you think I’m alone?” Morgana asked with dangerous sweetness.

“I don’t know, the fact that you just murdered your friends?”

“They were never my friends, Merlin! I used to think I had friends, long ago. But I learned different, didn’t I. I’ve only ever had one true friend; one person in the whole world who loved me for myself and you and Emrys and Uther and Arthur, you all schemed to take her away from me. I may have used Niniane and Blaise but they were just as eager to take advantage of me. I refuse to apologize for being the better strategist.”

“You think you’re in a better strategic position now?” Merlin had been taken aback by the vehemence of Morgana’s tirade but he tried to keep his voice calm and a bit skeptical.

“When I have the Cup of Life I will no longer be alone and then Emrys will be the one who should be afraid.”

But, the Cup of Life for all its power didn’t offer an immediate offensive advantage. Did she want to make of the men here what had been made of Cenred’s army? Perhaps, but these men had grown up with the Old Religion- sheep they might be but would they really consent to let Morgana do that to them? Merlin drew his brows down thinking. What good did Morgana think the Cup would do in a fight? Might it protect her from injuries? Or . . .. 

“What do you think you are going to do, Morgana?” Merlin demanded softly.

“Ah, now you see! Now you see! I may be alone now but I won’t be much longer. Morgause never should have died and very soon I’ll have my sister back.”

“It’s been too long.” Merlin felt suddenly cold. “Morgause is gone. The Cup’s power is not unlimited and there is always a cost.”

“You are going to preach to me about magic, are you?” Morgana scoffed. “What do you know? Morgause was a great priestess, a faithful daughter of the Old Religion. I can bring her back and as for the cost? That will be a pleasure.”

Pinning Merlin with her gaze Morgana watched him, waited for the moment he would understand. When he did his reaction felt to Morgana like water on a parched throat. “Arthur.”

“Yes, Arthur. It will work. A brother for a sister. A sacrilegious king for a just and merciful priestess. A destroyer of the old ways for a champion of them. The symmetry is almost perfect – I will get Morgause back.”

“It won’t work.”

“Says you!”

“Think, Morgana.” Merlin leaned forward earnestly. He did not know how long someone could be dead before the Cup lost its power to call them back. He did not know if Morgana had the skill and knowledge to harness the power in Arthur’s death and he didn’t care. “You don’t hate Arthur. I know you don’t – you loved him once. If you do this, Morgana . . ., there are no words.”

“You think I don’t hate Arthur? You must be blind. He’s a stupid, spoiled boy; that would be reason enough to hate him but there’s more than that. He’s always taken what was mine. I was always stronger, smarter, better. I have magic!” Morgana flung her hands wide and gouts of flames roared up from her palms. “I see the future. I was always better at everything but that didn’t matter. I could beat him at swordplay- I was even a better warrior. Uther must have seen that and tried to protect Arthur because when I turned thirteen he wouldn’t let me practice any more. Yet two years later when Arthur turned thirteen Uther started sending him out on patrols. Uther should have chosen me for his heir but he didn’t even acknowledge I was his daughter. The knights should have been glad to follow me but Leon- Leon, who followed me around with puppy eyes since before I can remember, Leon- defied me, said he’d rather die than swear to me. The people wouldn’t follow me. I would have been good to them, Merlin, but they all lacked vision. They’re all ignorant and venal and unworthy of all I would have done for them. Then, Gwen! Gwen ought to have loved me best – what has Arthur ever done that she should choose him over me! Even you, Merlin. Didn’t I treat you well? Could you not have served me honestly? Aren’t we both magic? I would have been a gentle mistress. How dare you? How dare you choose him over me, you wretched little traitor? Arthur owes me. And I’m going to see that he finally pays.”

During her tirade Morgana had brought her face inches from Merlin’s. He felt her humid breath and the flecks of spittle as she hissed then screamed then hissed again her rage. Her eyes were wild but Merlin met them unflinchingly. “It was never going to be you, Morgana, never. You aren’t going to hurt Arthur. You won’t touch him. But, the nearer you come to it- even in your heart- the worse it will be for you.”

“Go ahead, threaten me with Emrys again. I don’t care. When I have my sister by my side then it will be Emrys’s turn to fear.”

“You have so much more to fear than Emrys.”

“Really? I can count, Merlin. I have the men and I have the magic. Nothing will stand in my way.” Morgana felt strangely liberated. She had had to keep a rein on her feelings too long. This uninhibited verbal sparring was doing her a world of good.

“Don’t be so sure.” Merlin said strangely deflated. Morgana just smiled. She would have everything she had been denied. Soon, very soon.  
*  
“Wait.” Percival stilled, his hand on the doorknob. He turned to look at Cariad who was standing where he had left her with her head tilted up and to the side as though she were listening for something in the distance. She stood like this for nearly a minute before picking up the little silver key from where Percival had left it on the table. She looked at it her face a mask of indecision.

“Can you and your friends protect me, Sir Percival?”

“I will try, lady, as will my comrades but I can offer you no certainties.” Percival spoke quietly responding to the fear that must underlie such a question. The world could be a terrible place. Perhaps he had been too cavalier in urging her to leave her haven.

In a swift motion meant to overcome her hesitation, Cariad knelt. She carefully inserted the key into the shackle around her slender ankle and it fell away. Percival could see her tremble slightly as she got to her feet but she calmed herself. Next Cariad walked over to her bed. Her gait was stiff for the first few steps but then it evened out. Llyan had roused from her nap and permitted Cariad to scratch her ears. The cat pushed her head against Cariad’s hand a few times before deciding she’d had enough and tucked herself into a circle to resume her nap.

Cariad had smiled at the cat and she was still smiling, though much more tentatively, when she turned back to Percival. He extended his hand to her and she took it. He reached for the door again. He waited for her nod before turning the handle and leading her out.  
*


	12. Chapter 12

The night seemed to stretch forever. Arthur had to consciously remember to relax his neck and shoulders and unclench his jaw. His eyes were gritty with fatigue but there had been no possibility that he could fall asleep, even for the hours at a time when all was still in Morgana’s camp. 

Now dawn was approaching and Arthur welcomed the opportunity for action. It had been maddening watching and waiting, holding to his promise not to interfere. Arthur turned his head and signaled to Gawain who was lying beside him. During the interminable night the two men had crept gradually closer to the camp. The darkness was their only cover now but Arthur could see that Gawain was as eager for action as he was himself. It had not been easy for either of them. Arthur had tried to offer what reassurance he could to Gawain. Mostly he knew what the other man wanted was forgiveness for standing still. Arthur had tried to give it to him.

Morgana’s camp was beginning to stir. The fires had been kept burning all night but Arthur had seen that most of the men had seemed to sleep a little. They were all awake now. Morgana was arranging them around the Castle gate, sparing only a few for lookouts. Arthur wondered if Morgana had known dawn was to be the time on her own or if Merlin had slipped her the information to distract her from Arthur and Gawain’s approach. 

Arthur and Gawain moved forward approaching as close as they dared to the tethered horses. Though the Camelot mounts had been hobbled, Arthur could see that the ropes had come undone. It was difficult to see in the darkness but Arthur had every reason to believe that the knots restraining the rest of the horses had hopeless tangles.

Their slow advance halted when they came to Morgana’s magic boundary. Arthur had seen how crossing it had made Merlin ill. Morgana’s men had crossed it with no ill effect while Morgana herself had not strayed beyond it. Arthur hoped that meant that the magic only reacted to magic. It was possible however that Morgana’s men had been given some defense. There was only one way to find out. Gripping Excalibur’s hilt tightly, Arthur signaled for Gawain to stay where he was and crossed into the circle. Gawain joined him before Arthur felt that it could be determined if the boundary had had an effect but now was not the time to yell at the man.

Waiting again. The sky began to lighten. Any second now. The sun peaked over the horizon, the Castle gate began to open, Merlin began shouting.   
*  
In the interior courtyard of the Castle Perilous, Leon leaned against a wall. Percival had not joined them yet and Leon was trying not to worry about him. He was also trying not to worry about the fact that despite their best efforts the Castle gate would not open. It would be light soon, Leon consoled himself. Things were sometimes clearer in the morning.

At that moment two things happened simultaneously. One, Percival emerged from the Castle interior. Two, the exterior gate began to open.

“Well done you!” Elyan called out as he bounded over to Percival. “How did you manage it? What did you say to the dwarf?”

“What?” Percival was confused. He raised his hand and seemed astonished to find his fingers wrapped around the Cup of Life.

Leon was about to offer his own congratulations, relieved that one of them had managed to finish the quest but then he heard shouting beyond the gate. It was indistinct at first but Leon swore he heard his name. Then the words became clearer and Leon realized the identity of the speaker. Merlin was frantically calling out warnings to them. It was a trap! Morgana!

“Protect the Cup.” Leon hissed to his companions as he drew his sword and raced to the gate. Lancelot and Elyan were right beside him. Percival lagged behind still dazed. Suddenly Merlin’s shouts choked off and Leon winced at what that might mean. 

The Castle gate had opened completely now. Leon and his fellow knights stood shoulder-to-shoulder. For a second the space ahead looked clear but then a mass of armed men poured from where they had stood concealed on either side of the gate. Leon scanned the crowd frantically looking for any familiar face. Where was Merlin? Where was Arthur? Despite his above average height Leon’s view was limited and the only information he was certain of was that they were vastly out-numbered.

Men pressed toward the knights. Swords clashed. Though their opponents had more men the gate nullified this advantage. No more than a few men at a time could engage the defenders and Leon was glad for the warning that had kept them from walking blindly into the open. The thought of Merlin’s warning made Leon struggle again to get a broader view of his surroundings. 

He heard Morgana before he saw her. She was calling encouragement to her men, urging them forward. Then she called out more loudly taunting Arthur for not coming out to face her, for hiding behind his knights. Morgana stood among her men, weapon drawn. But, she was not so close as to be within range of Camelot’s knights. There was still no sign of Merlin.

“Keep together.” Leon ordered as Lancelot’s vicious sword work cleared a space around the knight that was not being refilled as quickly as Lancelot clearly wanted. 

Working to defend his own position, it suddenly occurred to Leon to wonder why Morgana wasn’t hurling lightening at them. Was Merlin somehow preventing her? That was a welcome thought as it implied that Merlin was participating in this fight even if Leon couldn’t see him.

“Camelot!” Arthur’s voice rose above the sounds of battle. “Camelot!” 

Leon looked around and saw that the King was charging toward their position astride Hengroen leading the knights’ other horses. Morgana’s men scattered before him and those who could not get back fast enough risked encountering Excalibur’s slashing blade. Shouts of triumph rose up in the knights’ throats but even as they prepared to grab their horses and make their escape words of the old tongue- heavy and resonant- cut through all other noise.

A ball of fire formed from the air and began hurtling toward Arthur. The King saw it and twisted on his horse’s back lifting Excalibur as though he meant to parry the magic flame but the fire never reached him. It simply disappeared a sword’s length from him. In the next instant the air was once again filled with ominous sound.

“Morgana!” Emrys. Leon felt his blood run cold. Morgana shrieked and spun about searching wildly.

By that time Arthur was close enough to the knights that he had to slow his charge. The knights started battling their way through the crush of Morgana’s men, abandoning the safety of the gate. Arthur wheeled his mount and did his best to provide cover while the others fought their way forward.

Taking advantage of the opportunity Lancelot fought all comers. He was so quick and deadly that he cut through the men surrounding him almost as though they weren’t there. With a sudden sick dread Leon realized that Lancelot was going after Morgana. With a shout of frustration the first knight chased after him.

The Witch was still looking around her, growling Emrys’s name and daring the old wizard to show himself. When she caught sight of Lancelot her eyes widened in recognition. 

“So that’s the game you want to play?” She hissed. “Have you no spells of your own that you must use mine to try and frighten me?”

Raising her sword, Morgana lunged at Lancelot. The knight met the blow and turned it without apparent effort. He advanced and Morgana retreated. She feinted then slashed hoping to use her speed but Lancelot ignored the feint and brought his sword down on top of hers so decisively that it fell from her suddenly nerveless grip. Lancelot followed up by driving his fist into the side of Morgana’s face. She fell like a stone.

Leon stood suddenly paralyzed as Lancelot stood over her. He watched not knowing what he wanted as Lancelot raised his blade. On the ground, half dazed Morgana raised a weak hand. It was a feeble last defense—or it would have been. But, Morgana was a sorceress and there was power in her gesture. Lancelot fell backward and Leon surged forward to help him. While he struggled to his feet Morgana scrambled back behind her men. Cursing, Lancelot did not resist as Leon pulled him away.

“Leon? Lancelot?” Arthur called as he realized the two were not beside him.

“Here, Sire.” Leon called shoving Lancelot at his horse and struggling atop his own. 

“Gawain?” Arthur called then after nodding acknowledgment to Leon.

Leon followed his lord’s eye and saw Gawain a short distance away. He was mounted and was holding Merlin before him on his horse. “Ready!” The knight replied.

With that Arthur gave the order and they kicked their horses to their top speeds. Looking back Leon saw that some of Morgana’s men were struggling to ready their own mounts. Not all seemed to be trying especially hard. Of the Witch herself, Leon saw no sign.  
*  
When Merlin started shouting Gawain’s body jerked into motion. Arthur’s hand fell heavily on his shoulder but by then Gawain had already regained control of himself. This was the worst part- really, this time, it was the worst part. The heavy gate of the Castle was swinging outward so slowly. Morgana’s men were poised on either side ready to surround the men who came through. Merlin yelled his warning again and again until the guard nearest him kicked him into silence. Gawain did not know how he managed to keep quiet, how he could keep still.

The moment it became obvious that Merlin’s warning had worked some of Gawain’s tension eased. The gate was open now but the men from Camelot stood close together with swords drawn and flanks covered by the gate. Having lost their surprise Morgana’s men attacked throwing themselves against their well-positioned opponents. There was not enough space for all of Morgana’s soldiers to attack at once but those in the back were eager to participate and they pressed forward, crowding their companions.

As quickly as they could Arthur and Gawain went to their horses. There had been a few men still on watch and they cried out upon noticing Arthur and Gawain. Their warnings were mostly lost in the general tumult though and both knights rode toward them, cutting them down before they could bring more attention on them. Arthur had the lead ropes of four horses in his left hand and Excalibur in his right. He caught Gawain’s eye briefly but then he charged toward the gate where his men were besieged. It hurt Gawain not to follow him but he had another duty.

There was a man standing guard over Merlin. He had seen the damage Gawain and Arthur had already done. He pulled a wriggling Merlin to his feet and tried to put a knife against his throat to hold Gawain off but somehow Merlin’s hands were no longer tied behind his back. Merlin dodged away from the man’s hold just as Gawain passed by slashing his sword into the guard’s chest and shoulder. Gawain struggled to pull the horse to a stop and slid off. Then he ran to Merlin who had fallen onto his knees again.

“Are you all right?” Gawain asked reaching for Merlin. He’d caught a glimpse of the magician’s face and saw that it was swollen and bruised.

“I’m fine.” Merlin answered but he flinched and tried to jerk away as Gawain took him by the arms to help him to his feet. “Shoulders are sore.” He added apologetically.

“Can you ride?” Gawain asked. He had to leave Merlin on his own for a moment as one of the men from Morgana’s camp broke away from the others to attack. Gawain dealt with him quickly but he kept a look out for any others. Arthur was charging toward the knights at the gate and most of the attention was on him. There were a few men, however who could not get near enough to engage Arthur or the other knights but who were still clustered close. They huddled swords drawn using the excuse of holding their position against the knights as an excuse not pursue Gawain and Merlin. Gawain couldn’t blame them for hanging back. He didn’t see how any of them were willing to put themselves in harm’s way for Morgana.

“I’ll get sick if I cross Morgana’s boundary.” Merlin was leaning heavily against the extra horse Gawain had brought but his eyes followed Arthur’s progress.

Gawain nodded. He had suspected as much from what he had seen earlier. “Ride with me then.” Gawain was just about to offer Merlin a leg-up when Merlin grabbed a hold of his sleeve. Merlin spoke in a voice Gawain did not recognize in a language that Gawain seemed to feel more than hear. Afraid to look at Merlin, Gawain followed the line of his gaze. A ball of fire was hurtling toward Arthur but something stopped it. Then Emrys’s voice was calling Morgana’s name. A few seconds later Merlin let go of Gawain’s sleeve.

“She doesn’t like that, does she.” Gawain observed quietly as he helped Merlin onto the horse. The sorcerer slumped forward over the animal’s neck as though he were exhausted. It took more effort than he would have liked but Gawain eventually managed to pull himself up behind Merlin. He gave Merlin his sword while he tied the extra horse’s lead rope around his wrist then took it back.

Though Gawain searched the field he could not find Morgana. He wasn’t sure if that made him more or less nervous. She had to be somewhere. He was so absorbed in his search that he was almost taken by surprise when he heard Arthur call his name. When he looked up he saw that Lancelot, Leon, Elyan and Percival had all mounted. Morgana’s men were keeping their distance from their rearing horses. Many had retreated, running to where their own horses were tied up in order to pursue the fight on more even terms.

Seeing that Gawain and Merlin were mounted and out of danger, Arthur signaled them all to spur their horse’s forward. Gawain, who expected to need both hands to control the horse and keep a hold of Merlin, stuck his sword in his belt and wheeled his mount.

“Wait.” Merlin insisted just as Gawain was preparing for the gallop. He was still leaning over the horse but Gawain suddenly realized that he was not as exhausted as he looked.

“It’s time to go, mate.” 

“Wait.” Merlin said again twisting around so he could keep the mass of Morgana’s forces in view.

“Merlin,” Gawain felt nervous and uncomfortable. He was trying very hard not to think about the fact that he didn’t know where Morgana was and that if a magic battle broke out he would be right in the middle of it.

Merlin ignored Gawain until Arthur and the other knights had passed beyond the perimeter of Morgana’s magic boundary. “All right, now.”

Gawain didn’t lose any time but took off after the others. He knew the moment they encountered the magic boundary because Merlin’s body jerked then went limp. Gawain grabbed at Merlin as he started to slide off the horse. He clutched him close as Merlin groaned and struggled weakly to curl into himself.

“Hold on.” Gawain urged the young man quietly as he brought his horse up alongside the others.

“Is everyone all right?” Arthur demanded from the head of the group. He turned trying to catch a glimpse of each man. All the knights were keeping pace at least. “Gawain, Merlin?”

“We’re fine.” Gawain reassured feeling it was what Merlin would want him to say.

“Are they pursuing?” Arthur demanded twisting again.

“Yes, but they don’t seem to be in a hurry.” Leon answered.

“Their having trouble with their horses.” Elyan confirmed.

“What about the Cup?” Arthur was slowing from a break-neck gallop to a canter.

No one spoke for a moment and then Leon asked, “Percival?”

Eyes turned to the big man. “I- I think I’ve got it.”

“Think?”

“I’ve got it. It’s- I’ve got it.”

“Well done, Percival. Well done all of you.” Gawain could hear the smile in Arthur’s voice but then he called to Merlin again and the worry was evident.

“The barrier has made him sick, but he’s getting better.” Gawain said. Merlin’s tremors had subsided somewhat.

“Are you sure?” Arthur guided his horse alongside Gawain’s and slowed it to a walk. The other knights did likewise even as they all twisted around to check on their pursuers. 

“Merlin?” Arthur spoke softly and he reached over to lay a hand on Merlin’s back.

“’m fine. Don’t stop. Just need a minute.”

“Arthur!” Elyan’s sudden call gained everyone’s attention. The young knight had turned on his horse’s back. He was not facing the Castle Perilous but a direction to the west. All eyes followed the line of his body. Even Merlin tried to maneuver himself a little to get a view.

“Who are they?” Leon asked as he took in a smudge on the horizon that was quickly getting bigger as it approached. If Gawain squinted he could see what might have been men on horseback- except they weren’t men on horseback. Gawain felt a sudden dreadful menace and he swallowed against it.

“Let’s not find out.” Arthur said tearing his eyes away. He urged his horse back into a canter and changed direction slightly so that they were no longer running at an angle to the new arrivals but opposite to them.

“Morgana’s men aren’t following us anymore.” Elyan observed. Gawain looked to confirm this and could only find a few horsemen and those few seemed to be retreating to the Castle.

“Stop that!” Gawain said louder than he meant when Merlin tried to get another glimpse of their pursuers and nearly lost his balance as they galloped.

“We should get out of here.”

“What do you think we’re doing?” Gawain huffed.

Merlin just shook his head at Gawain and called to Arthur. Merlin’s voice did not have much strength behind it though and Arthur could not hear him over the thunder of their horses.

“Arthur!” Merlin tried again and this time he did manage to catch the King’s attention. “Give me the coin. We need to go now.”

Frowning Arthur made as though to pull up his horse but Merlin shook his head violently. “Don’t stop- just give me the coin.”

Frowning harder, Arthur reached into his belt and retrieved the teleportation coin the Cailleach had given him. He looked at Gawain who nodded then tossed the coin over. Gawain caught it and gave it to Merlin.

“Is this a good idea?” Gawain asked but he wasn’t sure if he was asking Merlin or Arthur. The last time they used the coin, Merlin had demanded quiet and spent nearly a minute staring into space before speaking words that Gawain wasn’t sure were truly adapted to a human tongue. Merlin ignored him though and Arthur gave him a look that might have been meant to be reassuring but was too full of other emotions.

As Merlin held the coin, Arthur and the knights fell back so that they were riding in a line. Gawain tried to slow down but Merlin just hissed at him to keep going. Then, without warning, Merlin’s posture changed. His back arched and his arms spread. He made very precise gestures as he started to shout in that same deep, powerful voice. Gawain wanted to close his eyes but he didn’t dare. He’d never been so close to such a powerful spell.

While Merlin spoke there was a change in the air up ahead. It began to blur. Gawain recognized the portal they had taken to come to Orkney and he forced himself to ride straight at it. The first time he had gone through the coin’s portal he had done so at a walk. He imagined he felt a faint prickle along his skin but more obviously the world he was stepping into was cooler and the air more moist. This time his speed obscured any sensation of transition and it was several seconds before he realized he was galloping across completely different land. He pulled his horse to a stop. As he turned he saw that Elyan had already come through the portal. Then he watched as Percival, then Lancelot, then Leon and finally Arthur all appeared.

As soon as Arthur was through, Merlin started speaking in the old tongue again. The portal disappeared. This scared Gawain as much as anything else in the last few minutes because Merlin had been content to wait the minute or two for the portal to dissolve on its own the first time they went through. As soon as the portal was gone, the power that had so clearly animated Merlin seemed to drain away. Gawain wrapped an arm around him to steady him. 

“What was that?” Elyan asked looking around at his companions all of whom seemed as bewildered as he.

“Horsemen?” Leon ventured.

“No kind of horsemen I’ve ever seen.” Gawain said as he tried to summon up the image of their pursuers and mercifully failed.

“Percival, you have the Cup?” Arthur asked dismounting and coming over to Gawain and Merlin. Merlin slid off the horse as well and did not object when Arthur wrapped a supportive arm around his waist.

“Yes, Sire.” Percival answered looking down at his hand as though he were still surprised to find that he did have the Cup. He offered it to Arthur.

“I don’t need it.” Merlin complained trying to push away from Arthur. Arthur did not let him go but he did not immediately take the Cup either.

“Are you sure?”

“It looks worse than it is.” Merlin said pulling off one of his big grins. “I’m fine.”

“Is everyone else all right?” Arthur asked after studying Merlin for a moment then turning his attention to the others. None of the knights looked fully hale. Their faces were shadowed with bruises and fatigue. There was blood in Leon’s hair and Lancelot seemed to be struggling to hold his posture. Percival was moving slowly and Arthur couldn’t decide if he was favoring an injury or just disoriented.

Despite the evidence everyone claimed to be fine. Arthur frowned but he didn’t want to stop if he could avoid it. Certainly he wasn’t going to force anyone to use the Cup of Life. Getting his men to the Lady’s Lake where they could find rest and safety to tend their injuries and tell their stories seemed the best course. Arthur wasn’t sure when he had started to think of the Lake as a place of refuge but he had.

Percival was still holding the Cup out to Arthur so the King laid a hand on the ancient metal to claim formal possession of it. But, he left the Cup in Percival’s hands. “Keep it a while yet.” He said clapping Percival’s shoulder.  
*  
The trees whispered softly among themselves. The gentle wind through their branches was a sweet lullaby that Elaine had heard all her life- soothing her, encouraging her, comforting her. She had not heard the trees within the spell of Camelot though. The trees had been silent and yet she had not noticed their silence. Elaine shivered and pressed her hand against the trunk of a nearby hazel. Now that she could hear the trees again she did not understand how she could have ever forgotten.

Taking a deep breath, Elaine swallowed down emotions that were climbing too high to the surface. She did not wish to open herself to sentimentality when her future felt so vulnerable. 

She had been hesitant at first, when Arthur had returned from the Cailleach to speak of the Cup of Life but ultimately, she was glad that Lancelot and the other knights had taken on the quest. It gave her time to consider strategy. 

With a full day and night to weigh her options Elaine was much calmer. She had had a short but unexpectedly cordial conversation with the Lady of the Lake. She didn’t trust the Lady by any means, but Elaine felt that the Lady had accepted that what was done was done and Elaine could not be gotten rid of- even if that was what she might have preferred. So, that was encouraging.

The trees helped Elaine’s mood too as did Nynaeve which surprised Elaine a little. The two women hadn’t spoken much but Nynaeve was solicitous and gentle in a way Elaine could not remember experiencing before. The care she was shown was almost certainly for the benefit of the child but still it touched her. Against her will she was grateful. For most of the last day though Elaine had been by herself. She had missed that- time by herself.

She was tempted simply to enjoy the quiet, to let it wash over her but she feared to let go her hold of the present. She could not slip into daydreams now. Decisions would have to be made and Elaine was determined to have an active role in making those decisions. 

The first question Elaine addressed herself to was whether or not to insist that Lancelot remain with her when he returned from the Castle Perilous. She wanted to. She did not want him to return to Camelot until she was absolutely certain of how matters stood between them. Yet, Elaine could not stop him from leaving if he was determined to do so and she did want to risk alienating him. It was better to appear reasonable and confident. It made her angry and sad but she had to choose the battles she knew she could win. Forces beyond her ability to fight tied Lancelot to Camelot and so she would have to accept that keeping him away from that place was not an option. Lancelot needed adventure and knightly endeavor. Outside the dream world this was not something Elaine could provide (and within the dream world she had found it somewhat tedious though Elaine had not reached the point where she was willing to acknowledge that). So, let him have Camelot. Let him spend his summers fighting the invading hordes. Let him train in spring and make merry with his fellows. Elaine could allow that just so long as he always came home to her.

Elaine nodded to herself to emphasize this point. She was Lancelot’s wife and the soon to be mother of his child. Her rights and position were unassailable so she could afford to be generous. She could share Lancelot with his destiny- or she could share him with a portion of his destiny. A frown drifted across Elaine’s face. Anger and resentment began to bubble up within her but she pressed her forehead to the hazel tree and told herself firmly to keep her temper. It was a struggle. Lancelot loved Elaine. Elaine was sure of it. They were happy together. Yet, he loved Guinevere too. It wasn’t fair. Guinevere didn’t deserve him. She had only ever caused him pain while Elaine had only ever tried to protect him. 

Eyes squeezed tight shut Elaine forced away her smothering anger. As she did so, a new thought occurred to her: Arthur Pendragon. Elaine still wasn’t sure she liked the man but some of her initial resentment had faded. When he first walked into her throne room she had regarded him as an enemy. He had come to destroy her world. On top of butting in where he wasn’t wanted the man was impossibly full of himself- arrogant, challenging her in her own realm as though he held dominion wherever he set foot. 

Yet, Elaine had to admit that- aside from destroying her world- Arthur had not treated her ill. They both had claims on Lancelot. But, those claims need not be in opposition. After all, Arthur had as much interest as Elaine in seeing that Lancelot was a good and attentive husband. Yes, annoying he might be but it was better to have Arthur as an ally if she could. This thought cheered Elaine very much. She found herself relaxing to such an extent that she did let her thoughts wander. She started to think about what kind of house she and Lancelot would have when they settled down. They wouldn’t live in the city of course but perhaps not so far away. As her home in the dream world had defied much alteration Elaine had not been able to do a lot of her own decorating. Now though she could have things exactly as she liked them. Fewer cut flowers, she thought, but maybe an atrium . . .

“They’re returning.” Nynaeve’s excited voice broke through Elaine’s thoughts.

“Did they get the Cup?” Elaine asked extending her hand so Nynaeve could help her maneuver herself to her feet.

“Milady says yes.” For a second both women grinned at each other but then Elaine’s sense of dignity reasserted itself. She was pleased though. Victory put everyone in a more agreeable frame of mind.

“Shall we walk out to meet them.” Elaine extended her arm to Nynaeve. She had often walked out to meet Lancelot as he returned to their castle after his adventures. Things didn’t have to be so very different after all.

When the knights caught sight of the two women, they drew their horses to a stop, dismounted and walked the rest of the way towards them. As they did so, the Lady of the Lake appeared next to Nynaeve. At this distance from the lake, the Lady’s image was almost transparent but her smile could still be discerned.

“Welcome back.” She greeted and then added as she took in the troop’s bedraggled appearance. “It seems your quest has not been without hazard. I hope you will let us tend your injuries.”

“Thank you, my lady.” Arthur spoke for all of them. “If we could impose on your hospitality to rest a while I would be grateful.”

“You are always welcome here.” The Lady answered and Arthur was suddenly struck that this was no mere courtesy but he put that thought away. “Will you all come by the lake? It is restful there and, if you would, I would like to hear whatever tales you have to tell.”

As the Lady and Arthur spoke, Elaine moved to Lancelot. Her husband looked very much the worse for wear. His face appeared badly sunburned. There were scratches down one cheek and he moved stiffly. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” came the terse reply. But, then Lancelot relented a little. “How are you, Elaine?” He asked softly eyes drifting down to her belly.

“Well enough.”

Lancelot did not object as Elaine took his arm as the two followed the rest of the group closer to the lake.

It took a long time before everyone was settled on the beach, wounds tended and bellies full. Having lost some of their gear they had to impose upon the Lady and Nynaeve for provisions. Nynaeve did not have cups and plates enough for all so the knights shared among themselves joking and tussling as they did so.

“What happened when you went through the portal?” The Lady finally asked when a comfortable silence fell over the group.

At the question Gawain looked to Arthur only to realize that so had everyone else. For a moment Gawain wondered if Arthur was going to tell the Lady that it wasn’t any of her business- and to be fair, it wasn’t. But, it seemed Arthur had no objection to having the whole story told- even though he was clearly very eager to hear the part where the knights went inside the Castle Perilous. He might also have wanted to hear about Merlin’s time with Morgana. He kept looking at Merlin, studying his bruises with an unreadable expression. 

At the same time, Gawain didn’t want to hear about Merlin’s time with Morgana. He didn’t know why but even thinking about it made him uncomfortable. Whatever had passed between the sorcerer and sorceress seemed beyond what Gawain ought to know. In the end Arthur inclined his head to Merlin and the sorcerer began the tale from the point they emerged from the Cailleach’s teleportation spell.

When he came to the part where he and Lancelot rejoined the others after their meeting with the Bhuidseach, Elyan jumped in tell of the confrontation with Lot. The youngest knight had clearly been waiting to do so with barely restrained patience. He didn’t get far though before Gawain had to interject. As much as he would have preferred to omit the episode at Lot’s castle Gawain knew that wasn’t going to happen. The next best thing for him was to take control of the narrative. 

When he concluded he caught Elaine smiling smugly, her expression saying ‘not so judgmental now, are we?’ He ignored her. He hadn’t done anything wrong. It might have been a little embarrassing but Gawain was already realizing that it was the sort of embarrassment that a clever raconteur could turn to his advantage. He had been caught off-guard. He had never expected to have to confront his past but it might well be for the best. If he did have just the tiniest reservation about it all it was that Arthur now thought him feckless. Of course Arthur already thought that and it was even true. Except it wasn’t true- not really, not deep down and Arthur shouldn’t think it was. He’d have to figure something out about that.

Merlin continued the story trying to explain calling the Castle Perilous back into the world but only Freya had any hope of following that. When it became obvious his audience had no more patience Merlin moved on to the Fisher King. Once again Elaine perked up. She demanded to see the token that had been given to Lancelot in keeping for her son. That led to the ring being passed around to everyone. Elaine preened and while it was harder to tell it seemed as though Lancelot was not entirely displeased.

Arthur leaned forward when Leon began to talk. Leon told his story of the dark and narrow bridge like he was giving a report. He described events succinctly and without embellishment. When he came to the point where he met up with Elyan he paused inviting the younger man to tell his own story and then carry it forward. Elyan accepted eagerly. He wanted to commiserate with Leon’s experience of the darkness and to exorcise the fear and panic that still lingered at the edges of his memory of the swamp.

“I think we must have gone wrong with the question at the bridge.” Elyan lamented when he came to where he and Leon joined Lancelot. “There had to be a trick to it but . . .” Elyan trailed off.

“We met a dwarf when we went looking for the trident.” Gawain said. His expression was pensive. 

“Do you reckon it was the same one?”

“I don’t know. Did yours have an attitude?” Gawain asked.

“He seemed all right.” Elyan replied at the same time Lancelot answered, “Yes.”

“Maybe him then.” Gawain smiled.

It was Lancelot’s turn to tell his story but the knight was silent for several moments trying to compose his thoughts.

“My part of the Castle was desert.” Lancelot finally began. “There were some creatures to kill, mostly nuisances but there was a bigger creature at the end. I came to the bridge with the dwarf and answered the same question. There were rings of fire around the Cup but it wasn’t real fire. I could get through if I concentrated. The fire disappeared after I got through. I came to the Cup in the middle but when I tried to take it it wasn’t there.” Lancelot reached out and closed his hand around nothing. “That was when Leon and Elyan came up.”

“It was futile. I knew it was, really. But, I didn’t want to let it go.” Lancelot said sadly eyes seeking Arthur’s. “I think I would have stayed there just grasping at nothing if Leon and Elyan hadn’t rescued me.”

Arthur considered Lancelot. The knight’s eyes shone with unhappiness and self-reproach. It had been a mistake to send him into the Castle. It was too soon. If Arthur had known the knights were going to be split up he would have kept Lancelot with him. Now Lancelot clearly thought he had done badly- broken his promise. Arthur wasn’t inclined to be upset over it. Indeed, he thought Lancelot had borne up well- given circumstances. But, Arthur could tell by Lancelot’s expression that it would be a mistake to treat the episode as trivial or employ banal reassurances. Later Arthur would get Leon’s version of events and then he would talk to Lancelot. For the moment, he made no comment.

It was Percival’s turn next and everyone listened attentively. The knights were all eager to hear how Percival had managed it. Blushing under the attention Percival tried to rush through his story. When Percival came to the point where he left the path after emerging from the cave, Elyan could not help but interject, “How did you know you that was what you were supposed to do?”

“I didn’t.” Percival replied honestly. “I’m not even sure it necessarily was the right thing. None of it makes much sense to me.”

Elyan nodded but the young knight was convinced that there was some deep underlying logic beneath the Castle Perilous and if he could just catch hold of it then it would all make sense and he could understand what he had done right and what he had done wrong. He felt that was important even though he could not have said why. It wasn’t as though he expected that he would have to ever go through such a thing again.

It made him self-conscious but Percival tried hard to be as accurate as possible when describing his meeting with Cariad. He had been astonished when he left the Castle Perilous, looked down and found the Cup of Life in his hand. 

“Was Cariad . . . Was the Cup human?” Percival asked plaintively. He looked to the Lady of the Lake thinking that if anyone could answer such a question it would be she.

“No, Sir Percival. The Cup is the Cup.” The Lady answered not unkindly. “It is interesting that within the Castle it chose to assume the image of a woman but it is a great Mystery- not a human thing.”

Percival nodded but then he turned to Arthur. “She, it was genuinely distraught. She, it didn’t want what Morgana did.” If Percival had been asked his opinion of the Cup of Life before the Castle Perilous he would have said only that it was dangerous. He was not one to anthropomorphize but if pressed he would have had to admit he felt fear and perhaps disgust for the thing that had given birth to an army of the dead. He felt differently now. Cariad might not be human but she had not welcomed the uses to which she had been put. Percival felt bound by the promise he had made to try and protect her-- it.

Arthur extended his hand and Percival gave him the Cup of Life. Arthur had never had the time to study it before. It looked like a cup- unremarkable to his eye. He gave it back to Percival. “We’ll keep it safe.” He promised.

“So, the key to getting the Cup was to choose not to take the Cup.” Elyan said almost to himself. “I guess that mostly fits.” He could not help but be a little disappointed. It seemed like a nasty trick to pull on someone like Lancelot who tried so very hard. It also seemed a little unfair to Elyan himself who thought that if he had had the choice of helping a chained woman or collecting the Cup he might very well have done the former- though he had not go so far as that.

“I’m not sure.” Percival objected. “I really don’t think she was going to come with me but something- not me- changed her mind.”

“The Cup would have been aware of all that happened within the Castle. It could have made its decision because of all of you.” The Lady said her chin tilted up in thought.

“That seems right to me.” Percival nodded, his spirits lifted.

“I agree. That’s the best explanation.” Elaine chimed in. For Elaine, it was the best explanation because it gave Lancelot a meaningful role. And, it could be true.

“What about Morgana?” Leon asked. The talk of the Cup of Life as something that might possibly possess some kind of intelligence and volition was giving him a terrible headache. “How did she manage to arrive when she did?”

There was quiet in the wake of Leon’s question. Arthur, who had a bit of headache as well, was still thinking what to say when Merlin- apparently feeling Arthur’s silence meant that he didn’t want to talk about it himself- took up the story.

Arthur was happy enough to yield the floor to Merlin. There was a great deal roiling just beneath the surface of his awareness. Feelings and ideas that he hadn’t fully recognized, never mind accepted churned within him. He had no wish for any of this to erupt before time. And, Merlin was a good storyteller. He set the scene quickly, explaining what was known or guessed. But, then suddenly Arthur’s eyes shot wide. He had to replay the last few seconds of what he’d heard in his mind because it didn’t make sense.

“I needed to know more about the magic Morgana was using. I had to get close to sense it but her men caught me.” Merlin said with a self-deprecating smile.

“Merlin, you must be more careful.” Leon said with his unique mix of gravity, urgency and exasperation.

“You’re very brave, Merlin, but you shouldn’t take those kinds of risks.” Lancelot added.

Baffled, Arthur sought Merlin’s eye but the sorcerer would not meet his gaze. Arthur next turned to Gawain but the knight was also avoiding eye contact.

“It turned out to be a good thing in the end.” Merlin went on still smiling. “Morgana was mad of course but I was able to overhear a lot about what was going on.”

As Merlin went on it became increasingly apparent that he was doing everything he could to play up the comedy. Arthur did not know what words had passed between Merlin and Morgana but he had witnessed them together. He knew Merlin was putting a deliberate spin on the story. He had always done this, Arthur realized. But this was first time Arthur was aware of what was happening. 

He recognized in Merlin’s recital something in the same style as all those elaborate stories Merlin had told Arthur while he was still concealing his magic. Merlin never really spoke of danger. He didn’t mention how Morgana murdered her allies. He told everyone that he had dropped hints hoping Morgana would force him to tell her that Gawain was Lot’s nephew and then he would say how all Orkney was being raised against her. Morgana hadn’t taken the bait though. He talked about overhearing conversations and working his small magics right under Morgana’s nose. Saddle girths came loose. Swords stuck in scabbards. Blades grew dull and brittle. All night Merlin worked one tiny, seemingly innocuous spell after another. These shenanigans earned more reproof from Leon and Lancelot but Elyan showed open amusement and Arthur caught Nynaeve smiling behind her hand. 

It hurt Arthur to remember how easily he had accepted Merlin’s wild tales in the past. And, it frightened him because if he hadn’t known better he could see himself believing them again. Arthur shook his head then to clear it. He felt on the cusp of understanding why Merlin was choosing to be so circumspect about the realities of the ordeal but Arthur suddenly wanted to speak to Merlin alone. He needed to hear the truth. 

All their stories came together at the start of the dawn battle so that was where Merlin ended his own tale saying only, for the benefit of the ladies, that they had managed to fight their way to a far enough distance that he could use the coin. Arthur would get a fuller report of everyone’s experience of the battle later but for now he was content to wait. 

“What were we running from there at the end?” Percival asked. “Morgana’s men were never that interested in chasing us but they seemed suddenly much less interested as they caught sight of those horsemen.”

“The magic used to draw the Castle from the mist could not have escaped the notice of any sorcerer connected to the Old Religion. Perhaps the men you saw had simply come to investigate.” Freya hazarded.

“If they were men at all.” Lancelot said with a shiver. 

“Merlin?” Freya inquired.

“I don’t know. I just had a feeling it would be better if we got away as soon as we could.”

There was no more to tell after that. Gawain was the first to get up, stretching his arms and shoulders, face scrunched up with the effort of trying to stretch beyond his reach. Elaine spoke softly to Lancelot then took his hand to lead him a little distance from the others. His expression was resigned more than reluctant. Leon looked like he might fall asleep where he sat. Arthur’s mind drifted to a fantasy of a hot bath and his own bed. The thought alone was almost enough to lull him to sleep but he still had things to do.

He called Elyan to him with a wave and the knight trotted over to him with the energy of youth.

“We won’t be returning to Camelot until tomorrow but I’m going to send you ahead with a message.”

“Of course, Sire.”

“Not just now. Rest for a few hours. Sleep if you can. In fact it would be best to time your return to about dusk or a little after. I’d rather people not know you’re back until you’ve had a chance to speak to Gwen.” Arthur cautioned. “Explain everything that’s happened.”

“I don’t know if I can.” Elyan said with a wry smile.

“Well, tell her everything that has happened and explain as much as you can.” Arthur revised with a small smile of his own. 

“Then, tell her . . .” Arthur trailed off not certain what message of a few words he could send to Gwen that would offer reassurance. “Tell her to send you back if she has any message for me.”

Elyan nodded thoughtfully but made no comment. Then he loped off to follow Arthur’s suggestion about trying to get in a quick nap.

Arthur watched him go. This was not the first time since their return from Elaine’s world that it had occurred to him to think about Gwen and what she might make of all this. It was possible that she would not want to meet Lancelot again. The situation with the golem had been traumatizing. Gwen, and Arthur too, had worked hard to put all of that behind them. 

They had put it behind them but there was always a danger in probing old wounds. Though it was illogical and unfair, it was also inevitable that men and women could not help but blame themselves and each other even when under magical control. Arthur sighed, saddened by the unnecessary hurt. Yes, Gwen might very well wish to leave the past in the past. Arthur knew he should have considered that when first urging Lancelot to return to Camelot but at the time and even now Arthur felt- though he had no way to be sure- that Gwen would be overjoyed at Lancelot’s return. There was a bond between the two, which had been obvious from the beginning. 

The question of precisely what kind of bond they shared had occupied a great deal of Arthur’s mind in the past. There was no easy way to describe it. The very ambiguity of their relationship made it harder to deal with. It was as though in defying easy categorization the two presented a more subversive challenge than if they had just run away together. Why could they not simply be one thing or the other? Why could they not be either doomed to a wild, passionate, physical love that burned down all other attachments or be safely bound in a placid sibling-like affection? 

Arthur had not yet succeeded in understanding Lancelot and Guinevere but he had satisfied himself that whatever was between them it could not diminish what was between Gwen and himself. This truth had been easier to embrace when Lancelot was dead though. Still, Arthur could not deny or even truly regret the connection between his first knight of the round table and his queen. It was too much a part of who they were. 

That wasn’t to say he was exactly happy about it either. He worried that in accepting that there was a kind of love between them he betrayed an appalling weakness in himself. Was it not intolerable temerity and defiance that they should love each other in any way or form that was inconvenient for him or unflattering to his vanity? Was he not less of a king, less of a man if he was not ready to kill them for it; if he was not determined to break their hearts and his own then sew any future love any of them might share with salt? 

There remained sparks of jealousy, of wounded pride that could still flare within Arthur. But, where, Arthur asked himself when his anger kindled, was the threat to him? What love and allegiance were due to him that they both did not give in overflowing measure? He did not doubt Gwen loved him, not any more. Morgana’s plan might have actually backfired because it had revealed more clearly than could otherwise have been shown Gwen’s love for and commitment to Arthur. It had also showed that beyond anger, jealousy and hurt Arthur loved Gwen. 

As for Lancelot, in all things Lancelot yielded precedence to Arthur. If he loved Guinevere then that love was inextricable from his greatest aspirations for virtue. There was never a man who more fully embraced the concept of chivalry- including its contradictions- than Lancelot. 

Thoughts growing heavy and ponderous, Arthur looked for Merlin. He couldn’t think about Lancelot and Guinevere any more right now. He wanted to talk to Merlin- needed to. Merlin had had a bad time of it and Arthur wanted very much to be with him. 

Arthur’s own emotions felt raw and unpredictable which might possibly make him poor company since his angry frustration that Merlin had been hurt wasn’t likely to comfort the wizard. It couldn’t be helped though. Catching sight of the man chatting to Nynaeve and Gawain, Arthur was about to go over and join them when he became aware of someone close beside him.

“King Arthur?”

“Lady of the Lake?” Arthur straightened his posture and returned the Lady’s nod of greeting.

“Will you walk with me a while? I fear there is another favor I have to ask of you and I hope you will hear me out.”

The gears in Arthur’s mind smoked and screamed as his thoughts were unexpectedly forced into a new direction. With effort he put on a patient but expectant smile. He had come here in part in the hope that he and the Lady of the Lake could create some form of alliance, even partnership. Without really thinking about it Arthur offered the Lady his arm and then tried to conceal his sudden awkwardness at the automatic gesture. To his mild surprise though, the Lady accepted his arm just as automatically as he had offered it. Together they walked close to the shore, the Lady close enough that her bare feet left footprints in the wet sand. Arthur made sure that they walked in a direction that let him keep Merlin and the knights in sight.

“Thank you for offering us shelter, my lady.” Arthur began unable to think of anything else.

“As I said you are always welcome here.” The Lady was wearing a knowing smile but there was sadness in it too. “There was something I wanted to ask you though, something that will strengthen what I hope I am right in thinking of as the beginning of friendship.”

Arthur nodded

“I told you earlier that this is a place of healing. It is. I want it to be but I find I am in need of help. As powerful as I am within my domain I cannot venture beyond it. There are men and women in the world who could benefit from the knowledge and skill that I possess. I would like to teach those who wish to care for others but I have no way of finding them. Nynaeve came to me by chance but her presence has made real to me the idea that I might reach out to others. And yet, I cannot do it without help.”

“You want to build a school?”

“A school and a hospital,” the Lady confirmed. “Although perhaps build implies a greater scope than what I intend. This is a place of sanctuary. I am as yet uncertain how many people to invite here. Whatever the number, though, they will need food and shelter and other supplies that I cannot provide. They will need protection as well. I fear no threat at the lake itself but the world beyond my borders is not always safe.”

“I can provide whatever supplies you need.” Arthur was still a little shocked. He had not anticipated that the Lady would have practical needs. 

“And students? I want only a few to begin but later perhaps . . . .” The Lady trailed off and turned to face Arthur. “I have had ideas of this kind for many years but it was not until Freya became a part of me that I began to think it might truly be possible. When Nynaeve came to me and Lancelot appeared everything seemed ready to fall into place.”

“I will help you any way that I can but if you need sorcerers or even potential sorcerers . . . Many of those with magic remain wary of me.”

“Much can be accomplished in the healing arts by those who possess little or even no magic. Find me people eager to learn and it will be enough.”

“You can teach the science of healing as well as the magic?”

“I understand very little of the science of healing, so I will have to learn as well as teach.”

Arthur couldn’t help the enormous smile on his face and the Lady raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you really so surprised? Did you not believe me when I said this was a place for healing?”

“I believed you. I just didn’t think-“ 

“You may as well say whatever it is.” The Lady had tilted her head and raised an eyebrow.

“I didn’t think you would need or even want anything beyond your own magic.” Arthur finished his thought. He was still smiling. He had hoped some commerce would be possible between them but even as he had hoped he had also dreaded because he could not imagine what he might have that he she would want and he would not bargain with her or anyone else for what Merlin could do. Even if Merlin were willing, Arthur had no intention of trading on his sorcerer in such a way. 

“That is not how magic works, Arthur.” The Lady’s tone was a little chiding. “Magic must interact with the world. It must be rooted and bounded in what is real to have strength.

Arthur nodded to concede that that might be so. He remembered Elaine’s world and the new insight that had seemed to come to him then. Magic, magic not as a thing apart but- what had the Lady just said?- magic rooted and bounded and therefore stronger. Without his conscious intention, Arthur’s eyes went to Merlin where he was sitting with the knights a short distance away.

The Lady watched the direction of Arthur’s gaze. She smiled to herself but there was a touch of sadness in it. Though she and Arthur had only just met, she had somehow known him a long, long time. She saw what was in his heart and it filled her own heart to overflowing. She could not predict what would come of it though. She could not read his full fate, nor could she see what lay ahead for her beloved Merlin. She knew she should be afraid. The Lady of the Lake knew enough of destiny to know there was sorrow ahead, sorrow and loss. Loss so profound that the world would shake with it. But, she was not afraid- or, only a little. Because, she also knew there would be such joy and love. There would have to be else how could its ending loom so dark.  
*


	13. Chapter 13

It was difficult for Merlin to refrain from following when Freya took Arthur aside. He wanted them to be friends so much that he was tempted to walk with them so that he could make sure the conversation flowed smoothly. He worried that each would find the other cool, aloof or condescending. Of course Arthur could be all those things and Freya . . . well, the nature of her magic could make her appear remote and ethereal. Arthur might choose to be annoyed on principle. But, surely that was paranoia. Arthur did not want to quarrel with Freya and she did not want to quarrel with him. They would both be trying their best. Merlin needed to leave them to it. Still, the urge to run after them persisted.

“I suppose it will have to come out about Orkney once we get back to Camelot?” Gawain asked staring into what was left of the fire. 

Merlin blinked a few times before understanding finally dawned. “Yes, it probably will. But, believe me Gawain, in the long run you’re better off. Secrets affect us more than we know sometimes.”

“Well, no doubt that’s true.” And, Gawain didn’t doubt that it was true. Merlin’s secrets had certainly taken a brutal toll on him, on all of them really but Gawain would never say that aloud. It sounded like blame and there was no blame in Gawain’s heart for it. 

Gawain’s secret was of a much lesser kind- thank every god Gawain had ever heard of- but he was beginning to suspect it had still cast its own blight. Gawain shook his head. It had started simply as something he didn’t really talk about. Then it had become a secret. Then it had become a lie and then little lies were needed to support and defend the big lie and it kept going from there. With a grimace Gawain abandoned that line of thought. He wanted to be cheered up, damn it. 

“That’s well and good for the long run but in the short run I’ve said some things . . .” Gawain spoke a little more quietly than usual because Elyan was curled on his side sleeping soundly and Leon was leaning back against a tree drifting between waking and sleeping. Percival was also nearby. He had looked up when Gawain had started speaking but hadn’t yet spoken himself. With nowhere else to put it he had stuck the Cup of Life through his belt. He couldn’t seem to go a minute without reaching to touch it and reassure himself it was still there.

“You’re not worried you’ll have offended people?” Merlin couldn’t keep the amusement out of his voice- and he hadn’t tried very hard. Sometimes it seemed as though offending people was Gawain’s primary objective.

“No, of course not.” Gawain spluttered abashed. He wasn’t worried about that at all. He might be just a little upset about looking like a liar and a hypocrite but there probably wasn’t any way of getting out of that given the lies and the hypocrisy. That didn’t mean he had to look forward to it though. “It’s just . . . some people are going to throw this in my face and I hate that they’ll get the satisfaction.”

“Don’t worry about that.” Percival joined the conversation. Merlin was glad because the big knight had seemed quieter than usual since the Castle Perilous. “Merlin’s right. Ultimately, this is better and in the meantime you’ve got us to look after you.”

“Thank you, that’s very reassuring.” Gawain said. And, as it was actually very reassuring Gawain offered Percival a smile that he hoped would show him he was sincere even if it hadn’t necessarily sounded that way.

“But,” Gawain continued in alarm as a new thought occurred to him. “Will I be expected to participate in diplomacy? Arthur surely won’t expect that. I may- technically- be the Prince of Orkney but that was a long time ago. I don’t have any connections. No one listens to me. It would be a complete waste of time to try to make me get involved in that sort of thing.”

“I don’t know.” Merlin grinned. “I’ve known you to be fairly good at convincing people to do things against their better judgment. I don’t think that I’ve ever drunk too much except as a direct result of your influence.”

“I am enormously likeable.” Gawain conceded. “But, that raises yet another problem: if I have to be a prince how will I know if women are only attracted to me for the sake of a superficial title?”

“You haven’t seemed to mind when women have been attracted to you for other equally superficial reasons.” Percival observed.

Merlin snorted but Gawain considered the comment with apparent seriousness. “You know, that is actually fair.”

Now Percival had to laugh.

The three continued to talk for a while. Gawain, confidence fully restored, took the lion’s share of the conversation while Merlin and Percival contented themselves with the occasional interjection. But even as they did so, Merlin kept an eye on Freya and Arthur. As soon as it became clear that their discussion was over Merlin got up to meet Arthur as he strode across the beach toward them.

“You look pleased.” Merlin said by way of greeting. Arthur’s smile was infectious and Merlin was drawn in by it.

Though Arthur was tempted to withhold his news a few moments to prolong the happiness of anticipation his excitement got the better of him. He told Merlin what he and the lady had discussed and agreed to. His eyes shone as he did so.

“That’s wonderful.” Merlin murmured when Arthur was done. It was wonderful. Merlin had had no idea Freya’s thoughts had been running in that direction. Of course, given the nature of this place he might have guessed but still . . . “Have you thought about who you’ll send?”

“I hadn’t gotten that far.” Arthur said putting a hand to his forehead and trying to rub away the tiredness there. “Gwen might have some ideas, I suppose.”

“How about Vivian?” The problem of Vivian had been simmering in the back of Merlin’s head since Arthur’s mention of her just before the magic fair. It was something he had even intended to ask Freya about but he had forgotten with everything else that was going on.

Arthur stilled at the suggestion then he looked earnestly at Merlin. “Do you think .. . . Could the Lady help her?”

“No.” Merlin shook his head quickly not wanting to give false hope. “That’s far past helping, Arthur. I’m sorry. Even if she could be cured it’s a part of her now. She’s lived with it too long. The spell- the effect of the spell- has become part of who she is. I meant that she might like to learn about healing.”

“I don’t know that she’s especially interested in healing.” 

“Well, from what you’ve said she’s not much interested in anything. The spell might be unbreakable but that doesn’t necessarily mean she can’t have a happy life. At least she doesn’t have to be miserable.” 

“I suppose . . .” Arthur began, thinking. Part of Vivian’s problem could well be that she didn’t have anything to do but sit and pine. If she couldn’t break the spell then perhaps the effect of the spell could become less important. Arthur knew a lot of people for whom being in love or out of it didn’t seem particularly vital. “I would have to find some way of putting it to her father as well as Vivian herself but . . . I think that might be a very good idea, Merlin. Thank you for suggesting it.”

“Well, it was just a thought.” Merlin had been made shy by Arthur’s gratitude and he hid his smile by looking down at his feet.

Amused by this diffidence, Arthur reached out to lift Merlin’s chin. As he did so though it was not Merlin’s smile that caught his attention but rather the dark bruises Morgana had left. Aware of what Arthur was seeing Merlin pulled away.

“Tell me about Morgana.” 

“I already did.” Merlin said his grin wavering.

“No, you didn’t.” Arthur said with some frustration. “You told everyone you were captured by accident. And you didn’t say much after that except that in the end Morgana got so panicked by the idea of Emrys that she wasn’t able to do much to stop the knights from fighting free of the Castle.”

“But that is more or less what happened- not the first part, that was just a detail- but most of what I said was true- basically.” Merlin wasn’t even entirely sure why he’d changed the beginning of the story. It hadn’t really been a conscious decision. But, once he started it seemed like a good idea just to go with it. 

“If it was so trivial why not say what really happened?” Arthur challenged.

“Because I didn’t feel like being scolded by all the knights and maybe Freya too.” Merlin said throwing up his hands. He wanted be honest with Arthur and he thought that he was succeeding pretty well. It was hard though if Arthur was going to insist about having the details right. Merlin had known Gawain would not question him about such an insignificant discrepancy. Gawain was probably already remembering the story the way Merlin had told it as a subconscious courtesy. Why couldn’t Arthur take the same attitude? 

“You thought they would scold you?”

“Well, you did. You were very angry with me, Arthur, and it was most unfair.” Merlin rallied. Arthur’s harshness then still stung.

“It was plenty fair,” Arthur held up a hand when he saw Merlin opening his mouth. “But, let’s leave that for the moment. The knights wouldn’t have scolded you, Merlin. They would have been deeply impressed. They admire you. They would have seen in what you did courage and nobility.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Merlin said a little lamely. Arthur was turning this conversation in a direction he had not expected and he felt a little lost.

“They would have and I think that is why you told the story you did instead. So, I’m asking- just asking- what happened with Morgana. If it’s too hard to tell me then say that but don’t act like nothing has changed between us. We’ve come so far, Merlin.”

“What exactly are you accusing me of, Arthur? Not being able to take a compliment? Because I can handle praise fine and I’ll happily prove it now if you want.” Merlin really didn’t have an idea where Arthur was heading with this. What did he want from him?

Arthur laughed a little but he wasn’t going to be distracted. “No. I think you’re fond of compliments. It’s something different. You have the strongest magic of any sorcerer ever and part of the strength of your magic is that it protects itself. Part of that protection is that your magic would rather seem lucky than good.”

“Are you really going to try and explain how magic works to me, Arthur?” Merlin asked half amused and half incredulous.

“I seem to recall that you did not feel at all inhibited about telling me how kingship works.”

“That was different.” Against his will Merlin found himself coloring slightly. “You were too close to it, too immersed. There were things you couldn’t see.” Arthur waited in silence for Merlin’s brain to catch up with his mouth and a slight smile of satisfaction pulled at Arthur’s lips when it did. Merlin’s color darkened further. He supposed he had been a bit presumptuous. Still, he’d thought he was about to die. That usually entitled a person to some leeway. There had been so much then that Merlin had wanted to say. He hadn’t really had the words. He still didn’t.

“You’re right that I don’t really understand magic.” Arthur said with a small smile. “But I think I’ve come to see a few things. I may just possibly have seen some things that you’ve been too close to see. Magic does have limits.”

“I’ve always told you that.” Merlin had tried to explain that magic wasn’t all-powerful. He just hadn’t been able to explain how that was true in a way that made sense.

“You have but you can see how it was hard for me to believe it?” Arthur had tried and tried to imagine a defense against magic. He had wanted something, some power that would keep him and his people safe but the only defense against magic seemed to be stronger magic and Arthur could not imagine any end for that cycle save complete destruction. 

“So you believe it now?” Merlin asked tentatively. He did not expect that Arthur would suddenly embrace magic but perhaps if Arthur understood that magic was not- could not be- the threat he thought it was then he could not be so far away from genuine acceptance and from there even appreciation?

“It was Elaine’s world, strangely enough, where I started to see it.” Arthur explained needing to put his path of reasoning in words for himself as well as for Merlin. “It always seemed to me that magic and nature were antagonistic forces. And they are to some extent. For magic to happen there must be some suspension of the natural order. It seemed to me then that for magic to succeed the rules of nature were forced to give way. The rational, predictable world would be replaced by a world where the very strongest sorcerers and magical creatures just created whatever sort of experience they wanted as they went along, unconstrained by logic, morality or even sanity.”

Merlin closed his eyes. He had seen Arthur wrestle with the idea of magic, trying to make sense of what it could do and what it meant but he had not imagined that Arthur saw this. It was awful. Uther himself could not have had a more terrifying vision of the danger of magic. How had Arthur held this idea in his mind and not hated. Arthur reached out for Merlin’s hand then and drew the younger man to him. They rested against each other for a moment before Arthur was able to go on.

“But, in Elaine’s world I saw it was more complicated than I had known. Magic might go against the laws of nature but, you said it, ‘nature is resilient’ and more than that, magic depends on what is real. Magic that sought to destroy nature ended up destroying the very thing that made the magic possible in the first place.” As he spoke Arthur felt again the overwhelming relief of that first moment when he seemed to see that magic could not destroy the world without destroying itself first. The rational, predictable, sane world was not defenseless. It persisted. It remained itself.

“At the Castle Perilous another idea came to me. When you were with Morgana I realized- You’ve always said how strong your magic is. I’ve always believed it.” Arthur had always believed it. He had not needed nor had he wanted any sort of demonstration. He had just known somehow as Merlin revealed the truth of their life together that Merlin’s magic was the strongest in the world. “I believed it but I was still scared for you. It was hard to imagine you in a fight with Morgana or with anyone really. I know you have fought her before and many others besides but I didn’t want you to fight her.”

“As it turned out, you didn’t fight her- not the way I had feared. It was dangerous for you and I don’t think I will ever be comfortable with you putting yourself in that kind of situation but in the end you beat her without the kind of destruction that would have come from a direct confrontation. That’s why your magic will always be the strongest, isn’t it? Because it’s subtler, because it protects itself and the world it grows out of and depends on. Keeping your magic strong means you can’t always go at things the direct way. You may have to do a dozen little spells rather than one big one. You may have to avoid- when you can- the sorts of magic that pushes too hard against what the real world can support before it’s forced to fight back.”

Unbeknownst to him, Merlin’s eyes had been flickering gold as Arthur spoke. He had not understood his magic in the way Arthur described- not exactly. And yet the words resonated with something deep within him. Was this part of why he had hidden so long? Was this why, even now, he shied away from playing the part of the great and powerful sorcerer? Were there things his magic understood as intrinsically dangerous; not just morally dangerous but dangerous to the world that made magic possible?

Arthur watched Merlin as he considered his words. Though the gleaming magic was unmistakable, Arthur observed the gold with new found confidence that the blue was still there, that it would remain there, that it had to be there because the gold needed it to be there. Once again Arthur reached out a hand to Merlin’s face. This time Merlin did not pull away but let Arthur look at and then touch his swollen, tender skin.

“I suppose it wasn’t completely fair for me to be angry with you.” Arthur murmured, fingers skimming down the side of Merlin’s face one last time before dropping away.

“No, it wasn’t.” Merlin agreed readily but then went on more slowly. “But, it must have been hard for you to watch. In your place I could not have done it. I honestly didn’t think about that very much. I should have.”

“Will you tell me about Morgana?” Arthur asked again quitter this time.

“There really isn’t that much to say.” Merlin sighed but almost against his will his mind traveled back to his time as Morgana’s prisoner. “She was happy to see me at first. I mean genuinely happy. I think it was because she was lonely. It wasn’t difficult to get her to talk. She wanted to. And she’s never really seen me as a threat. Even when I defied her she didn’t take it seriously.”

“Did you defy her?”

Merlin gave an indeterminate shake of his head. “I had to or she would have been suspicious. But she knew she was stronger than me.”

“That’s what you let her think.” Arthur clarified. “You let her think she had beaten you. That was why she was so willing to talk because there wasn’t anything you could do to challenge her.” Arthur knew he would not have been able to do that in Merlin’s place. He had once thrown a fight in a tournament and even such a little thing as that had been very difficult. He had done it out of a sense of duty- and love; to protect his father’s pride and reputation but he’d still struggled with it. As it turned out, Uther had known what Arthur was doing and he had taken it in the spirit it had been intended. It was a silly thing but Arthur had felt an enormous sense of relief when it turned out his father had known all along- relief and affection. Merlin clearly possessed both courage and selflessness but they were of a kind that was foreign to Arthur. 

Even as Arthur thought on how hard it must have been for Merlin and the commitment and strength of purpose that must have been required of the magician another idea came to him. Was this how it had between them: Merlin deliberately playing the idiot so that Arthur might feel clever? So Arthur would let down his guard? And then . . . And then what? Merlin had never knowingly acted against Arthur’s interests and Arthur had genuinely trusted him. It hurt Arthur that Merlin had deceived him about Merlin’s strengths and abilities. It hurt him more because that deception had kept Arthur from facing problems that would have helped Arthur find his own strengths. But, that was different than what Merlin had done with Morgana. The motivation was different. The result was different. Howsoever else Merlin had deceived him it was not the same deception he had worked on Morgana. Arthur needed to believe that.

“I guess so.” Merlin shrugged again unaware of the path of Arthur’s thoughts had taken. “Anyway, I did do some magic- little things here and there. She’s got such anger, Arthur. She feels both abandoned and rejected and she is just tormented by this tremendous sense of entitlement. I found out why she wanted the Cup. She thought she could bring Morgause back to life by sacrificing you. That was why she turned on her allies. Whatever goals they had in common they would have opposed that.”

“Is that possible? Morgause has been dead a while.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Merlin said. “It’s enough that she would have tried. I really, really don’t like it when people try to kill you, Arthur. It is unacceptable.”

“I love you, too.” Arthur said with a smile genuinely touched.

Merlin continued to talk about Morgana. He was surprised to find that it made him feel better. This was the more surprising because he had not been aware of feeling particularly bad. Morgana was a pit of sadness in Merlin’s heart but he had long since come to terms with that. It couldn’t be helped now. The occasional nagging doubt that it might not have been inevitable; that once it may have been within Merlin’s power or within Morgana’s own to take a different path remained but Merlin could deal with that. Talking with Arthur though, sharing his regret, helped him put some of that regret aside.  
*  
The talk had gone well, Elaine considered. She was glad to have had some time to practice what she wanted to say. Lancelot was a mass of confusion and Elaine had worked hard to appear calm, reasonable and generous. She had some hope that things would get back to normal between them. She even had some hope that things might be better. 

One of the things that had attracted Elaine to Lancelot was that even in the listless state he had been in when she had met him he had been full of a pure passion. He had lost some of that in the magic world. Elaine did not care to speculate why. The important thing was that it was back now.

As they talked it had become clear that Lancelot was exhausted. The moment things could be called, however temporarily, settled Lancelot had admitted that he needed to rest. Elaine would have liked to sit with him as he fell asleep. She knew his feelings for her were still in a state of upheaval and though she was confident that this would not last long it upset her. It would have been good to be with him while he slept. Part of her commitment to being reasonable and generous though included being aware that Lancelot was not ready to feel vulnerable around her.

With nothing else to do, Elaine decided to go for a walk. As she walked, somewhat laboriously, through the wood near the lake she caught sight of a tall figure ahead of her. She called out. She saw Sir Leon stiffen as he heard her but he stopped and waited for her to catch up to him.

“Do you mind if we walk together?” She asked fully aware that Leon would prefer not to walk with her but betting on the fact that he would find it difficult to be rude. Elaine was proved correct as Leon attempted a smile and inclined his head.

“Feeling a little restless after such an adventure?” Elaine inquired when the two resumed walking.

Leon regarded her sidelong but answered civilly- if not entirely accurately. “No, just enjoying the day.” He had fallen into a light doze earlier but every time he felt on the verge of a truly deep sleep he would jerk awake. His body must have been thinking it was on watch because he just hadn’t been able to relax entirely. He had hoped a walk would help him relax. But that was looking a lot less likely now.

“Mm,” Elaine acknowledged the lie but without interest. This was an opportunity. There were a great many things that Elaine suddenly found she wanted to know. If Lancelot was going to be spending at least some of his time in Camelot and fighting Saxons then she needed to know about those things so she could keep an eye on them . . . to be a supportive wife.

Elaine was just considering how best to start pumping Leon for information when they came to a bend in the track. Ahead the woods thinned out into a clearing. Arthur and Merlin sat near the far edge of that clearing their features limned in sunlight. Leon continued on their walk holding them to their previous pace. Elaine would have slowed otherwise. She could not have explained why precisely but there was something captivating about the two men sitting side-by-side. Elaine would have liked to study them, to pin down what it was that caught her attention. They weren’t doing anything in particular- just talking and yet . . . Elaine would have liked to go nearer. She would have liked to be nearer.

Leon and Elaine walked in silence for a time; each lost in their thoughts. Finally, Elaine smiled and looked up at Leon. “You don’t really approve of me, do you?” Leon and the knights were very important to Lancelot and it struck Elaine that they were perhaps the first subject she should learn more about. 

“Lady, I don’t know much about you. And, what I do know urges the strongest caution.”

Elaine nodded. That was fair, more than. She was even a little pleased that he seemed wary of her. Her strongest magic may have broken but she planned on remaining a force to be reckoned with. It was important that no one underestimate her or fail to take her seriously. 

Still, Elaine could be a good friend as well as a dangerous enemy- or she presumed she could never having had the occasion to find out. She realized that just as it was good strategy to encourage Arthur to see the benefit in a strong relationship between Lancelot and Elaine, it was also good strategy to make the knights like her. Finally, it occurred to her that having the knights like her might be pleasant in itself.

“You haven’t threatened me. You haven’t warned me to be good to Lancelot or to leave him alone or anything like that.” None of them had pulled her aside and sworn dire vengeance if she did this or didn’t do that. She had half expected it and so she had prepared how she meant to answer. She was a little disappointed that she hadn’t had a chance. She would have welcomed the opportunity to proclaim the people who had destroyed her home hypocrites.

Leon had no idea how to respond to that so he said nothing. 

“Do you not feel protective of Lancelot, Leon?” 

“And you think I protect him by trying to arrange his affairs behind his back?” Leon meant to speak in a calm and quizzical tone but anger- the sudden strength of which he had not anticipated- took over. He took a breath, ready to go on because, by god, there were a few things that needed saying. But Elaine was looking at him with an arched brow that seemed to say ‘by all means, hold forth’ and he stopped. She was baiting him and he didn’t want to engage with her like that.

“No, perhaps not. Still, it is not an unusual impulse is it?” Elaine said.

“You may be inclined to think that you know me, Lady Elaine, because of your . . .” Unconsciously Leon copied Arthur’s gesture for magic. “But, and please take this in the spirit of friendly advice in which I intend it, you do not know me. Nor should you presume you have taken my measure or the measure of any of the rest of us. You have not. You will spare yourself embarrassment if you can take that to heart.”

“Well, the Sir Leon with which I am familiar would not have said that, certainly.” Elaine had had to swallow down her first angry response. Leon was not altogether wrong. The shadow of their magic counterparts still hung heavily over Elaine’s conception of Leon and the others. He probably had given good advice even if the friendly spirit of his intent slanted self-satisfied. “It may be difficult from time to time but I will try to take it to heart.”

“And indeed, you must be patient with me. I am family now, Sir Leon. I hope I do not run afoul of your admonition if I presume so far as to believe that loyalty and the honoring of one’s commitments is important to you?” Elaine smiled and Leon looked uncomfortable because that was the crux of it. 

“But if you are all stuck with me then I’m stuck with you too.” Elaine was still smiling but her smile had softened and she said with sudden spontaneity. “Give me a chance and I’ll pull my own weight.” Surprised by her own words, Elaine was on the verge of taking them back or at least adding something sarcastic or vaguely menacing to dilute their sincerity but somehow she did not. Elaine spent the remainder of their walk wondering if she had been wise.  
*  
Gwen sat suspended. It had been hours since she had stopped so much as pretending to pay attention to the papers before her. She just kept them out now so that she would look busy if anyone came into the room. Arthur, Merlin and the knights were coming home today and until they arrived Gwen could not put herself to any useful purpose.

Last night as Gwen had been about to go to bed, Elyan had shown up at her door. Meg had let him in and then, at Elyan’s request, left them alone. This might have been an ominous sign but there was nothing in her brother’s demeanor that portended disaster. In fact, his first news, that Arthur and the others were coming home earlier than they could have hoped, had been a joy as well as a relief. Not that there was anything amiss in Camelot. The league of knights, though slightly disgruntled to have been abandoned without warning, accepted that Arthur might occasionally have responsibilities beyond them. All other issues had been routine. Still, Gwen was very glad to have Arthur coming back so soon.

After this initial good news however, the message became confusing. Once Gwen had heard everything all the way through, she told Elyan that he should get to bed. The young man was almost asleep on his feet. She had hugged him and told him to come see her in again in the morning.

When he was gone Gwen sat at her table and took several long, deep breaths. Elyan had told her many things and any one of them could have enormous implications for Camelot. But, Gwen’s focus was drawn to one thing only. All the events of the last few days might be important but Gwen couldn’t do anything about most of them at the moment. She wasn’t expected to. As incredible as all that had happened was Arthur had not sent Elyan to Camelot ahead of him because he urgently wanted her to know that Gawain wasn’t really common born.

Lancelot was back. For real this time. 

Like iron filings to a magnet Gwen’s thoughts were drawn inexorably to the last time she had seen Lancelot. It had been the worst time of her life. Above all her other frantic emotions Gwen had been most upset by her utter confusion at her situation- the incomprehensibility of knowing she’d done something awful but not understanding why or how. 

Of course, that time was not really the last time she’d seen Lancelot. The Lancelot she remembered then had been a golem. That knowledge made things better- a little. It had been a complete surprise and then no surprise at all when Arthur had come to her to tell her the same story Merlin had just told him. So much else was happening then though that it had been easy to put aside the question of magic’s role in her own life. Arthur would have liked, Gwen knew, if she could have felt vindicated by the revelation that Morgana’s malicious magic had been to blame for everything, that the hurt and shame she still felt in her low moments could have been ameliorated. Yet, the involvement of magic didn’t make her feel vindicated. 

‘Magic made me do it’, how was that supposed to make her feel better? It was true and yet it still rang in Gwen’s own ears as so cowardly and brazenly self-serving. The fact that a magic bracelet was all that was required to take over all her judgment made Gwen so angry she couldn’t bear it. She should have been stronger, fought harder. No, it was not a solace to have been used so effortlessly.

What did turn out to be a comfort was that Lancelot was completely and unequivocally innocent. It was a weight off Gwen’s heart. So, even though for herself Gwen had no wish to revisit the ordeal, she allowed the incident of her, the bracelet and the golem to be one of the select stories of Merlin’s adventures that were shared among her friends. Lancelot hadn’t done anything wrong and it was important to her that the people she was closest to understood that.

While it was happening, Gwen hadn’t realized that Lancelot was an imposter. She now felt guilty about that. She ought to have known and because she hadn’t known she’d blamed Lancelot. Not as much as she blamed herself, obviously, but she’d still blamed him. It was only after the revelation of magic and Lancelot’s innocence that Gwen was properly able to think about Lancelot and what she thought of him and what he was to her. 

She had loved him. She could admit that to herself. He had shone bright and beautiful in her life and his love had lifted her up. Lancelot had always been so gentle and yet so passionate. Just being near him one could feel the deep, deep calm of his soul. But, when he committed himself he did so entirely, holding nothing back, burning with an abiding fire that sometime flared into something close to madness. He made her feel safe and loved and cherished. He made her feel like the heroine in an ancient tale. And yet somehow Gwen had never confused her feelings for Arthur with her feelings for Lancelot. Her feelings for both were so different . . . .Perhaps she should have been confused though. Perhaps Gwen’s true transgression was that she had not done the Queenly thing and looked at matters from the perspective of an outside observer. 

Gwen loved Arthur as much as it was possible to love another person and yet she loved Lancelot. She loved them differently and her love for Arthur was not less because of her love for Lancelot. That was true but in a way the truth didn’t matter. Morgana had made doubly sure of that. Whatever the precise nature of her feelings for Lancelot, they had the appearance of impropriety and that was enough to put her irredeemably in the wrong. That was the way of the world, Gwen knew, but she heard a small voice whisper in her mind: ‘But, if it is wrong for you to love Lancelot then is it not also wrong for Arthur to love Merlin? That was not the same perhaps, but neither was it so very different.

No. There was too much anxiety and heartache. There wasn’t any point to trying to understand whatever kind of love she had for Lancelot. It didn’t matter what she felt and it didn’t matter if those feelings were right or wrong. The simple fact was that having Lancelot back was inviting gossip and scandal. Gwen did not want to be the subject of prurient curiosity. She had been through that once and she couldn’t go through it again. It wasn’t worth the sneers and the humiliation and the casual tavern talk. Camelot was on the cusp of great things and it was unthinkable that she and Arthur should have to divert one moment of their attention to quelling rumors or trying to define a relationship that not only defied definition but was also no one else’s business.

Lancelot had a family now. And of all the strange things she had heard from Elyan, how was it that that was the strangest? Lancelot had a wife and would soon have a child. He could find some peace and happiness for himself away from the place and the people that had demanded so much from him. 

Gwen took a breath and let it out hoping to feel the release of tension that came with arriving at a decision. But, her chest and shoulders remained as tight as ever. She knew it was best for everyone if Lancelot stayed away and made a new life for himself elsewhere. But, what message could she give to Elyan? How could she explain to her brother who would then report to her husband all her reasoning? She could not bear to think of Lancelot hurt. She could not bear for him to think that he was not dear to her.

The more Gwen thought on it the more she realized she could not tell Elyan that Lancelot was not welcome in Camelot. It wasn’t true and it wasn’t fair. How long had Lancelot struggled to become a knight? He had made himself a part of something that had always been forbidden to people like him by the force of his determination, hard-work and idealism. He had been working to mold himself into an agent of good at a time when Gwen’s imagination had not stretched much beyond keeping track of Morgana’s pretty dresses. Who was she then, to say to the first Knight of the Round Table that he must keep to the periphery because Camelot’s queen might find his presence awkward? How could she say, Lancelot can’t come home because Gwen is afraid of what people might think; because Gwen doesn’t want to have sort out what she feels and what she ought to feel?

A few tears finally slipped down Gwen’s cheeks. She did miss Lancelot. She didn’t want to keep him away. He belonged with Camelot. He belonged at her side. Arthur must have understood something of that if he had invited Lancelot to come back. From Gwen’s memory of Elyan’s story it had seemed like Arthur was pleased by the idea of Lancelot’s return. Gwen could believe that and it made her overflow with gratitude that Arthur trusted her and that he had a genuine affection for Lancelot.

The rapport between Arthur and Lancelot had been there from the beginning. The two fell into an almost immediate acceptance of each other as though they knew themselves well-matched. Before Lancelot the idea of allowing the common born to be knights had not been a serious question in Arthur’s mind. But he had recognized in Lancelot an almost idealized chivalry that he could not do otherwise but claim for Camelot and for himself. Before Arthur Lancelot had dreams but no means to bridge the gap between who he was and who he knew he was to become. There had never been strife between them over Gwen. And if it was thus for Arthur and Lancelot then what did anyone else matter.

Decision made anew, Gwen finally did feel some of the stiffness leave her muscles. It was very late as Gwen finally rose from her chair. She was a little dizzy after being still for so long but that quickly passed. She washed her face then crawled into bed. Burrowing her way to the very center of the mattress she stretched her arms and legs out in all directions and enjoyed the feeling of luxury and freedom for a moment before curling onto her side and closing her eyes.  
*  
That night Gwen slept lightly and woke early. Before Meg came to her room with breakfast Gwen had already sent pages out with messages that she wanted to see Sir Kay, Sir Dagonet and Sir Bors at their earliest convenience. When the knights arrived one by one she told them some parts of Elyan’s news. She couldn’t go into much detail because either she didn’t have details or the details didn’t properly make sense. Kay suggested a feast for the evening to celebrate what he understood to be a largely successful mission. Gwen smiled her acquiescence. Yes, a feast was a wonderful idea.

It was not until mid-morning that Elyan came to see Gwen again still yawning from his long sleep. Gwen wished him good morning but sent him on about his day. Her only message was 'welcome’ and she would deliver that herself.

When Elyan had gone Gwen sat down and tried to work. After a listless hour she gave up. She felt as a character in a book must feel when the book was not being read. She was simply incapable of any action, any thought until Arthur and Lancelot were back. She had made a choice and now she must wait to learn the consequences of that choice. It was frustrating, this sense of her life held in abeyance but she could not move beyond it. Until she saw Lancelot again, until she could look into his eyes she could not truly know what it would mean to her to see him again.

Finally, there was a knock on her door. Gwen quickly fished for a quill pen which she just managed to hold poised over the parchment in front of her as Kay entered the room. She looked up at him feeling foolish for her instinctive need to appear busy.

“Arthur and the others are approaching, my lady.” Kay said smiling gently. “Will you come down?”

Nodding Gwen got to her feet. She had taken several steps toward Kay before realizing that she still held the pen. Feeling awkward and scatterbrained, she turned back to put the pen down. When she had turned again Kay had come forward to offer his arm. She took it gratefully. Together they made their way through the castle to the front steps.

People were already gathered around the courtyard and along the street leading up from the lower town. Smiles, cheerful words and the occasional bow or curtsey greeted Gwen all of which she acknowledged gratefully and gracefully. It still surprised her to be noticed and made much of among the people. Sometimes she walked into a room to see everyone get to their feet and incline their heads and she would turn around, curious to see whoever must have come in behind her. 

Gwen had let it be known that Arthur and the knights were returning today and the people needed no encouragement to congregate. Among the citizens of Camelot, Gwen also saw that many of the allied knights had come to see Arthur’s return. Their regard was much more speculative than that of the others but it did not seem exactly hostile. Gwen wished she knew what they were all thinking. They had all been her guests for at least several weeks but Gwen did not truly have a feel for their evolving motivations.

Pulled from her musings by the loudening crowd, Gwen looked up. Ahead she saw the knights of Camelot riding toward her amid cheering people. That sight never failed to move her. She felt the familiar swell of pride as she took in the faces, each beloved in his own way, until she came to the one she had not seen in too long a time. Gwen let out a breath she had not known she was holding. 

Lancelot was back. Whatever came of it Lancelot was finally back where he belonged and Gwen was glad.

When the procession reached the steps to the castle the horses were drawn to a halt. Smiling Gwen dipped into a formal curtsey “Welcome home, my lord.” She greeted Arthur as he came to take her hand.

“Gwen,” Arthur smiled radiantly. He was genuinely pleased to see her but he was also speaking for the benefit of the crowd. “A great deal has happened in a very little time. Come greet Sir Lancelot who we thought was lost to us. He was being held under an enchantment but he is himself again to all our joy.”

Arthur pulled Lancelot unresisting to his side. The knight met Gwen’s eyes for a moment then slipped to one knee. Queen Guinevere offered him the hand that was not still entwined with Arthur’s. Lancelot took it and kissed it. When he released her hand she touched his shoulder indicating permission for him to rise. He did so and took a step back. 

“Welcome Sir Lancelot.” Gwen spoke softly. Arthur watched their interaction. Whatever he saw in their faces he was still smiling. 

“There is another welcome you may wish to give, my Lady.” Now Arthur’s tone was arch. “The Prince of Orkney is with us.” Arthur indicated Gawain, who came forward grinning a little sheepishly. He made Gwen an exaggerated bow.

“Now this is a story I think I must hear in full.” Gwen said raising her voice above the suddenly boisterous crowd. She knew Arthur was using Gawain to move attention away from Lancelot and she was happy to help. Rumors of Gawain’s newly discovered lineage had filtered down to the people but no one had quite known what to make of it. Gawain was a flamboyant figure and though he was generally liked there was a sentiment among some quarters that he was altogether too big for his britches. It was yet to unfold how the news of his nobility would alter people’s opinion of him. “There will be a feast this evening, my lord prince; I hope you will join us then to share it with us.”

“I am as always helpless to resist the offer of fine food and drink, my lady.” Gawain replied earning the approval of the crowd.

“Certainly something for us all to look forward to.” Arthur said still amused. “In the meantime, my lady, I’m eager to return to the practice yard. I would like to see what progress has been made in my absence.” For the first time, Arthur turned his attention to the allied knights where they had gathered in twos and threes among the crowd. If Gwen had interpreted the knights’ expressions as assessing, even cool, then Arthur’s eyes reflected all of that with a hint of challenge thrown in.

“Would you like to come?” Arthur asked Gwen. These were the first words intended only for her since arriving. When Gwen turned to look into Arthur’s face she saw that he was fighting to hold back a grin.

“I’m guessing Lancelot hasn’t missed a step, then.”

“Gained a few, in fact.”

“I’d like that very much.” Gwen said and the two turned together to the lead way toward the practice yard with Lancelot, Gawain and the allied knights falling in behind them.  
*  
As Gwen and Arthur talked, Merlin hung back to observe. He wasn’t worried, not really, but he wanted to watch Arthur, Gwen and Lancelot from a little distance; to see them from an outsider perspective if he could. When the crowd finally began to disperse Merlin saw that he had had nothing to worry about- not that he had been worried. 

From the snatches of conversation he overheard, it seemed the people were most interested in talking about Gawain. He did hear a few murmurs about sorceresses who lived underwater and magical artifacts but this seemed to be more in the way of curiosity rather than anxiety or malice. Eventually, Merlin knew, some general announcement would be made to the Council about Freya. After that the people of Camelot would come to know the Lady of the Lake as one of the great and good of magickind, an ally and a friend.

What Merlin did not hear and what he had been listening for was any talk concerning Lancelot and Guinevere. It was too much to hope that people had completely forgotten. Yet, so far Lancelot’s sudden reappearance wasn’t wagging tongues. It was possible, Merlin told himself not at all displeased, that though from where he had stood those events had seemed traumatizing, the people of Camelot might not have been especially struck by the false Lancelot sudden appearance and disappearance followed immediately by Gwen’s banishment. Gwen had not been Queen then and those sorts of quarrels were inevitable among young people. Merlin was generally optimistic and inclined to think the best of people. Concern for Arthur and his friends sometimes overrode those qualities. Perhaps though, in this, the people of Camelot would show themselves content to be fair-minded and reasonable. Why not hope.

Feeling light as air, Merlin waded through the milling people until he was able to catch up to Percival. Like many others the big knight was heading toward the practice yard but Merlin intercepted him with a hand on his arm. Startled, Percival turned. His hand went automatically to his side but he was not reaching for his sword.

Gesturing for Percival to follow, Merlin guided the knight to a less crowded area. When they had some space to themselves Merlin said, “I’ll take care of it now, Percival. It needs to be hidden somewhere safe.”

Percival’s eyes darted back and forth for a moment as he clutched at the sack at his waist which held the Cup of Life. He seemed about to argue. In the moment Merlin had asked for the Cup of Life Percival suddenly saw Emrys standing before him. Emrys, the great and powerful wizard, was asking to be given a great and powerful artifact of magic. Percival’s family had died because of how that artifact had been used. He could not hand it over. 

In the next moment, though, Merlin was Merlin again. Percival felt embarrassed over his momentary qualms. He held out the Cup to Merlin. “I’ve worried about it constantly since it came into my possession. Still, it feels strange to relinquish responsibility for it.”

“Would you rather give it to Arthur directly?” Merlin asked without accepting the extended Cup. Merlin had sensed something of Percival’s hesitation. He even sensed something of the reason for it. 

“I- No. I’m sorry, Merlin. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Percival extended the Cup again and this time Merlin took it.

“It’s the Cup of Life, Percival. Of course you ought to be careful with it.”

“I do trust you though. You know that?”

“I do know that.” Merlin smiled and reached up to put a hand on Percival’s shoulder. Merlin felt sympathy for Percival. It wasn’t necessarily an issue about magic. It was about power. Merlin had an unspecified but indisputably large amount of power. Most of the time that didn’t matter. Most of the time Merlin didn’t want it to matter. Sometimes it did matter though. Merlin liked to be the one who got to decide when it was and when it wasn’t important but it was hardly Percival’s fault if the Cup of Life had brought him to a sudden jarring awareness of Merlin’s power. Merlin was just glad that most of the time the vast power of Emrys did not intrude between him and the knights he considered his best friends. He was glad to have people who knew him for all of what he was. That knowledge brought them closer together but it did occasionally put distance between them as well. All in all, Merlin considered he had gotten a pretty good deal.  
*


	14. Chapter 14

Despite a general intention to investigate the Round Table and the Fisher King’s Spear neither Arthur nor Merlin had given either artifact any attention in the three days since their return to Camelot. Once Merlin hid the Cup of Life he didn’t give that much thought either. There was simply too much else to do. The summer’s raiding season loomed ever nearer. Almost all of Arthur’s time was taken up with the allied knights. He trained with them constantly but even the hours not spent training were taken up with discussion of strategy and tactics. And then there was always the routine business of the kingdom. Arthur found himself making a special effort to attend to the petitioners as much as possible since he would soon be leaving for most of the summer.

Though Arthur and Merlin each separately had an occasional moment of worry about what if anything they should do about the alleged treasures, each man also found reasons to postpone thinking about it. 

It had never been Arthur’s objective to solve the problem of Camelot’s vulnerability to magic by finding some great magic of his own. Thus, the power the treasures seemed to offer did not tempt him. It terrified him to know how often Camelot’s fate had come down to a secret contest between Merlin and some terrible threat. Merlin was powerful obviously and the treasures might give him greater power but magic battles could be more devastating than conventional ones. Arthur did not want to start a magical arms race. 

Merlin’s reasoning was not so far different from Arthur’s. His instinct had always been to use his power circumspectly when he could. If magic was like a sword- and whatever it’s imperfections as an analogy Merlin still thought it captured relevant commonalities- then, even in a good cause, it was wise to use magic judiciously when possible. Investigating the potential of powerful magical objects was certainly worthwhile but Merlin was not in a hurry to start experimenting. It was enough for now that potentially dangerous magic was out of the hands of Morgana. Merlin preferred to think about how well Freya and Arthur had gotten along and the fact that Lancelot was now back among them. Those seemed to him more promising developments for the future than finding the Cup of Life. 

In the three days since his return to Camelot Merlin was beginning to see that he had missed Lancelot more than he had realized. In Orkney, while they waited for the Bhuidseach, the thought crossed Merlin’s mind that much of his friendship with Lancelot had been built around keeping Merlin’s secret. Now that that was no longer necessary, he feared they might not have the same rapport. But the way Lancelot so effortlessly fit back in to life in Camelot it was like he had never left. It was almost as though there had been a space left open for him and now that he was back everything was back on its proper course.

It was with these thoughts floating in the background of Merlin’s mind that he found himself chatting with several of the allied knights’ squires as he walked across the courtyard. Listening to the various complaints of the young men- boys really, Merlin could not help but smile to himself. He ought to be too young for nostalgia but he remembered his own struggles to figure out this or that piece of baffling equipment. He was just biting his tongue to keep from advising one especially bewildered boy to take his questions to the Queen when something caught his eye- a flash of color an impression of movement.

He had a sense of déjà vu and whirled around trying to pin down whatever had set the alarm bells off in his brain. Without taking time to think or question Merlin left the squires to run in the direction he which he had sensed a disturbance. Whatever it was was moving quickly. Merlin tore after it trying- but not always succeeding- to keep from knocking into the people in his way. A hand cart appeared out of nowhere and Merlin, along with several dozen heads of cabbage, would have inevitable spilled onto the paving stones but without his conscious demand the cart abruptly rolled out of his way.

As he moved he was beginning to perceive that he was chasing a human figure- small though and not quite right. He felt he knew or should know what was ahead of him. It nagged at him. The creature before him was familiar. He’d encountered it before- recently. Merlin barely registered it as his pursuit led him toward the edge of town and then out through the gate toward the forest. He might have heard his name being called somewhere behind him but he did not look. 

Breathing labored, Merlin fought frustration. He was gaining on the figure but it was still elusive. Among the trees his sense of it seemed slightly diminished and so he reached for a burst of speed. The figure was straight ahead of him now, yet he still couldn’t see it clearly. The creature was magic. Merlin had been fairly sure of that from the beginning but now he knew what it was. With a word he sent forth a blast of power that knocked the figure sprawling. Conscious mind catching up with his unconscious Merlin began to chant.  
*  
Despite the best efforts of the brightly shining sun the day was not quite warm. Leon leaned against the wooden side of the guard tower by the town wall. He had a dipper of water and he was taking long, slow swallows. He was not slacking but after taking the gate sentries’ afternoon report neither was he rushing to find the next most useful thing he could do.

The Queen was having a small dinner party in the evening and Leon was very much looking forward to it. Feasting with the allied knights was all very well but Leon preferred smaller gatherings. 

He finished his drink and stretched his sore shoulders. Trying to keep up with Lancelot was a mug’s game but Leon hadn’t been able to resist pushing himself a little harder since their return. In a little bit he would go get ready for the evening but now he was content to watch the world go by.

Then he saw Merlin hurtling toward the gate oblivious to his surroundings. “Merlin!” 

The wizard did not so much as turn his head. The gate guards exchanged looks with one another as Merlin pushed his way through the slow stream of people coming and going. “Now, what’s that about?” One of the guards asked his companions.

“It’s Merlin.” Another man answered with a shrug and a fond smile. “There’s no rhyme or reason to that one.”

“I think I’ll just go catch up with him anyway.” Leon said trying to sound casual even as his heart began to pound. “Shouldn’t be running around nearly crashing into people.”

The gate guards exchanged another look among themselves as Leon loped off after the offending manservant. Sir Leon really was a stickler. Why not just let the boy run if he wasn’t really causing harm?

Leon kept up his long but easy stride until he cleared the bottleneck of people around the gate. Then he put on speed. Merlin had been running full tilt all this time so Leon had to run hard to keep him in sight. Leon was aware that he might be wasting his time. Merlin running around was not in itself a signal of danger but Leon could not resist the rising tide of panic in him. He hoped he would feel silly in a little bit.

The race continued and Leon began to get the impression that Merlin was chasing something. He couldn’t tell what but the wizard would sometimes slow down a little and then turn his head as though listening. Finally, Leon followed Merlin to a flat and open stretch of ground. There was a figure ahead of them, Leon could see that now. Merlin’s hand went up and the figure tumbled to the ground. Getting close enough to see properly, Leon slowed then stopped beside Merlin.

The figure on the ground tried to get up but Merlin’s hand went up again and the creature reacted as though it had been shoved hard into the forest floor. Merlin started speaking then but he used no words Leon understood. The knight knew that if he turned he would see that Merlin’s eyes were gold. Leon did not turn; rather he moved to circle the fallen creature that lay struggling against some invisible restraint. Leon had his sword out. If Merlin couldn’t hold the creature then it was unlikely Leon could do much good but it was in Leon’s nature to do his part regardless.

Moving a little closer, Leon saw the creature, still somehow unable to stand, twist around in its struggles. As it did so Leon realized that he was looking at a boy- a child, maybe ten years old with red hair and freckles. 

Merlin was still speaking and whatever he was doing was clearly affecting the child. The boy screamed and writhed in obvious pain. He twisted desperately to escape whatever was happening to him. Leon felt sick but his sword did not waiver. Suddenly, in a motion too swift for Leon to follow the child flipped in the air changing as he did so. The creature that finished the flip was not the child that had begun it. It still mostly looked like the child but it had shrunk to the length of Leon’s forearm and its features had become sharper. Then the creature flipped again and this time it ended as a creature the length of Leon’s finger. It had wings now and its ears ended in sharp points. Merlin finished speaking and though the creature beat its wings furiously it could not fly away.

“What is it?” Leon asked, sword arm still steady though he felt limp with relief.

“One of the sidhe.” Merlin answered looking up at Leon with sudden self-consciousness as though only now taking in the knight’s presence.

“What do you need me to do?”

Merlin considered that question briefly then answered. “It might be better if no one wandered into this.”

Leon inclined his head and turned to check their surroundings then find a place to keep a lookout.

“Let me go!” The sidhe demanded still uselessly flapping its wings.

“Answer my questions first.” Merlin said in as serious a voice as he could manage. “I’ve seen you before, haven’t I? What is one of the sidhe doing in Camelot?”

“Release me and I will answer three questions truthfully.”

Merlin shook his head. “Answer all my questions truthfully and then- maybe- I’ll let you go.”

The sidhe scowled and there was more frantic flapping. Merlin was confident in his spell though- mostly confident. He had dealt with the sidhe before and his magic had prevailed each time but the sidhe were very dangerous. It was a risk to try and hold one but Merlin needed to know what it was doing.

“I will answer all your questions truthfully until moon-rise. Then, you will let me go.” The sidhe counter-offered. 

Merlin looked at the sky. There were several hours until moon-rise at least. It seemed a fair compromise but bargains with creatures of magic had gotten him into trouble before. “When I let you go, you will leave Camelot and never return.”

The sidhe’s ears twitched but the he nodded. “All right. Ask your questions then.”

“Who are you?” That seemed about as good a place as any to start.

“Jack Thistledown, at your service.” The sidhe bowed mockingly.

“Why did you come to Camelot, Jack Thistledown?” Merlin recognized the sidhe’s disguise from the Magic Market. He had been there when the farmer accused one of the merchants of using faery gold.

“The sidhe have an interest in what happens in Camelot. I was keeping an eye on things.”

“If you want to spy why don’t you just send an ambassador like everybody else?” Merlin demanded angry with himself for not immediately penetrating the sidhe’s disguise.

“You think faery kind would send an ambassador to a mortal court?” Jack Thistledown spoke with extreme disgust.

“Diplomacy is beneath your dignity but spying isn’t?”

Jack Thistledown opened his mouth for a sharp retort but then he paused. “You still see yourself as one of them, don’t you? I forget how young you are.”

“Who do you think I am?” Merlin asked trying to hide the dread he felt.

“You are Merlin, sometimes called Emrys, son of Balinor the dragonlord and Hunith of Ealdor. You are prophesied to be the greatest sorcerer to ever live. You are an immortal embodiment of magic. And you are to take part in the creation of a peaceful, prosperous and united Albion.” The faery captive laughed through his nose. “Oh, the Sidhe know you, Merlin. If you were worried about revealing yourself you should not have slain one of our elders.”

Fear coursed through Merlin and he bit back on it. He also bit back a retort that if the Sidhe elder hadn’t tried to kill him then maybe he would still be alive. He didn’t like that the Sidhe knew so much about him but he would not let himself be intimidated. Likewise there was no use in getting into an argument. “It was you in the woods on the way to the lake? You were following me?”

“I was in the woods. I couldn’t go too near the lake without alerting the guardian.” The Sidhe admitted. “I lost track of you after that. Imagine my surprise when I heard that you had turned up at the Castle Perilous. That was a neat trick . . .” Jack Thistledown trailed off inviting Merlin to fill in an explanation. Merlin didn’t.

“Those were Sidhe at the Castle Perilous then?” Merlin had known it. Somewhere deep in his bones he had recognized something in that shadowy force as sidhe. He hadn’t been able to dredge it into his conscious mind before now but the knowledge was there.

“Yes.”

“Why? What do the Sidhe care about the Cup of Life?”

“It is a powerful magic. We wanted to see what happened.” The faery shrugged. “Perhaps we meant to keep it out of the hands of dabblers. I am not always privy to the Elders’ plans.”

“Why do the Sidhe have an interest in what happens in Camelot?” Merlin asked returning to the main point. The Sidhe had tried to make a changeling Camelot’s queen. Why was influence in Camelot important to them?

“Because the Sidhe are eager to see the bringing together of Albion. The connection between the land and its magic grows increasingly attenuated. Matters cannot go on as they have.” Jack Thistledown said as though it were obvious.

“I don’t follow.”

“Albion cannot come into being without the Once and Future King, Merlin. We watch and as we do so it becomes ever more obvious that it is time to clear the way. You must see that for yourself after everything.”

“Arthur is the Once and Future and King.” Merlin said in exasperation. If the Sidhe were trying to help they weren’t doing a good job of it.

“No, he isn’t.” Jack said irritated and then went on very quickly when he saw Merlin’s expression. “Or rather yes, he is. But, that isn’t enough now.”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t know?” Jack peered at Merlin trying to gauge his sincerity. “You really don’t know?”

“Explain it to me.”

“Arthur is estranged from the land’s magic. He is deaf and blind to it. We did try, we- most of us- kept hope for as long as we could but more and more of us have come to believe that Arthur cannot do what is needed. It is unfortunate but there’s been too much damage . . . Too much went wrong. It’s time to face the fact that we must start again and we cannot do that with this Arthur.

“That’s not fair!” Merlin said indignantly. “Arthur lifted the ban. He has invited Camelot’s sorcerers to come out of hiding, offered asylum to the Druids. You were there for magic market day. What else do you want Arthur to do?” 

The look Jack Thistledown gave Merlin overflowed with scathing disdain. “It doesn’t matter how he treats Druids and hedge witches. What do baubles have to do with magic of the kind we are speaking of? It is of no interest to the Sidhe how petty sorcery is governed in Camelot- or anywhere else for that matter. The important thing is the magic of the land entire and Arthur rejects that magic. While he rejects it the magic is lost and wandering.”

“That’s just not true! Arthur has accepted magic. All right, he’s not always thrilled about it but what do you expect?” Merlin’s voice rose in pitch as he spoke. Yes, Merlin might wish that Arthur liked magic more but did the Sidhe expect Arthur to treat magic with unconditional approval or ignore its genuine danger? To do so would be foolish.

“Arthur may have accepted your magic but that’s not the same thing and it is not enough.”

“You didn’t answer my question: What do you want Arthur to do?” Merlin didn’t like the familiarity with which the Sidhe spoke of Camelot, Arthur and himself; as though prophecy combined with skulking in corners and peeking through keyholes gave the Sidhe the right to speak as though he knew them. Beneath his confusion lurked a growing anger but Merlin had to understand what the Sidhe were up to so he held his temper. 

“He must welcome the land’s magic and see it fully restored. This must happen and yet the magic of the land is fading. It has been doing so for a long time and those creatures born from the land’s magic are faiding to-“

“-Like the Sidhe?” 

“The magic of the land is the greatest source of magic that can exist. There is little enough that does not depend on it in some way or other.” Jack said striving for dignity but in the next moment his shoulders slumped. “We feel it. We are adrift, our magic lacks an anchor.” Merlin nodded. That was what the Cailleach had said and now looking at the Sidhe Merlin wondered about the truth of it. 

“The Once and Future King, he must call the magic back, give it something to hold to.” A fierce note entered Jack’s voice, “You tell me Merlin, can Arthur, as he is now, do that? Would he be willing if he could?”

“There’s healing to be done. I won’t deny that but it will come when it comes. It is a slow process. Don’t try to force it. It has not been magic and magickind alone who have suffered. No matter what happens things aren’t going to be like they were before. Magic is being treated fairly. If you can’t see that now be patient. In time, you’ll see.”

“It’s too late. Arthur may have had the potential once to be the man you hope for but he has turned his back on that potential. He has not even sought the treasures.” Jack shook his head sadly. “Excalibur, the Cup of Life, they aren’t enough and he only has those because you all but threw them at him. The other treasures stay hidden and I fear they will remain so. I can see that you wish it were otherwise. I see how you would take every burden on yourself but strong as your magic is you cannot carry Arthur’s half of destiny. You cannot fight all his battles. In this time and in this place, Arthur cannot be what we need him to be. From the beginning things went wrong. We need to begin again.”

Merlin’s head was spinning. He only just stopped himself from blurting out that the other treasures had been found just for the satisfaction of seeing the Sidhe’s reaction. He did not know if that was actually true though and it seemed to him that there was no advantage to sharing information with the Sidhe until he knew exactly what was going on. He had to get as much information as he could now while he had the chance. “What, very specifically, went wrong? And what do you mean beginning again?”

Jack’s eyes sought the sky but the sun’s shining dashed any hope he might have had of ending this line of inquiry. Still, he remained silent for than a minute. Merlin was on the point of prodding him when he took a breath. “How far back to go? I suppose you could start with Nimhue.” 

“It was too soon for Arthur to be born into this world. The time was not ripe. The Sidhe knew this and so did the very wisest of the priestesses. But, Nimhue, in her arrogance, thought that it should be her magic that allowed Igraine to conceive; that she was strong enough and farseeing enough to midwife destiny. She did not anticipate Uther’s reaction to the cost.” Jack Thistledown’s mouth twisted. “Because of Uther the magic that would have taken centuries to lose was lost in decades.”

“Arthur should not have been left with his father. The old ones were very clear on that. Even without his unreasoning hatred, Uther was never going to mold the kind of man who could unite Albion.” Thistledown sneered again. “Several attempts were made to rescue the young prince by various powers of the Old Religion- including the Sidhe. We hoped that, away from his father, he could be made into a King who could serve our purposes but those attempts all failed, sometimes at great cost. We continued to have hope, if we could get to him, influence him then matters might still be set to rights. It is true that as time passed some of the Old Religion gave up hope and refocused their efforts on killing Arthur so that destiny might try again but those failed too.”

“It was too early, you see?” Jack Thistledown repeated almost pleadingly. “You should have been born before Arthur. It was your role to guide him, teach him and protect him but you were too young. By the time you came to Camelot it was almost certainly too late. You protected him but you could not open his mind to the truth and magnificence of magic.” 

“You mustn’t blame yourself, Merlin.” Jack said sincerely misreading the sorcerer’s look. “Next time, we will all be better prepared.”

“Next time?” There was something unmistakably dangerous in Merlin’s voice and once again Jack looked to the sky.

“Arthur is the Once and Future King. There is no getting around that but it has always been understood that he may not necessarily succeed in all times and all places. He is the Once and Future King because it is possible for him to be drawn back from death. Though Arthur die, he may yet live again if the world’s need grows strong enough and the magic calling for him is great enough. Arthur cannot be born into a new life, however, until he leaves this one. Time grows precious. No one knows how long after his death we must wait before he can be called again but surely the sooner he dies the sooner he can return. We can make ourselves a better King then- one worthy of all destiny has set forth. You will have another chance, Merlin, having had the benefit of learning from your first failure.”

“You think- you think you can just start over?”

“It may be that this life will leave its mark.” Jack shrugged. Such things cannot be known for certain. But without Uther and with magic to guide Arthur’s youth, things could not help but go better. “That is all the more reason for things to end sooner rather than later before he lives too many more years as the man he is now.”

“You want Arthur to die. You want Arthur to die because you think then you can find someone more tractable!” There were no words for Merlin’s outrage. The Sidhe were wrong in so many ways. They had grossly underestimated Arthur and vastly over-estimated the importance of their own goals. Magic’s fate was only a part of Arthur’s destiny. That these creatures would presume that just because they weren’t going to get exactly what they wanted when they wanted it they had the right to so much as contemplate Arthur’s death was more than Merlin was capable of understanding. He could not even try to compass it now. There were rational arguments to be made, he was sure. There were many reasons why the Sidhe were approaching their problems with a short-sighted and ultimately self-defeating strategy. But, arguments were less important to Merlin at that moment than making it very clear to the Sidhe that anyone who sought Arthur’s life did so at their most dire peril. “If the Sidhe do anything to threaten Arthur then whatever you think you have to gain, I swear to you, I’ll make sure it isn’t worth it.”

“The Sidhe are dangerous enemies.” Jack Thistledown had to struggle not to cringe at Merlin’s words but he managed to stand straight. “Already you have been forgiven much because of who and what you are but there are limits. Hinder us and we will not spare you.”

Merlin nodded. His magic quivered within him ready to burst forth but Merlin held it in check. He had more questions but just as he was ordering his thoughts to ask them Jack looked up. Evening had slowly crept in upon them and the pale light of a gibbous moon shone down upon them.

“You promised.” Jack’s tone suggested that he was not entirely certain Merlin would keep his word and he was ready to be indignant about it.

“So I did.” With a brief flash of light the magical restraints holding Jack Thistledown dissolved.

The Sidhe did not pause for farewell. The moment he was free he was flying away. Merlin watched but in his faery form the Sidhe was gone almost instantly. After the frantic beating of the faery’s wings the glade was eerily quiet. In the midst of the silence Leon appeared at the edge of the trees looking pale.

“Did you hear all that?” Merlin asked.

“Not everything but most.”

“We should get back to the Castle.” Merlin said turning. He had forgotten about Leon in the heated back and forth conversation with Jack Thistledown. If Merlin had had a choice he would prefer if Leon had not been witness to the conversation. Leon would likely blurt out every word he heard to Arthur the moment he saw him. Merlin had no intention of holding anything back from Arthur, but he felt reflexive irritation that Leon had observed this confrontation Merlin didn’t entirely understand why that should be so but he was in no mood to think about it.  
*  
Sir Gawain was just outside the town gate tapping his foot and scrutinizing the darkness when he caught sight of Leon and Merlin making their way toward him. He called out a greeting then jogged up to meet them.

“Did you two get lost?” The question started out as cheerful but as Gawain had a moment to take in Leon and Merlin’s expression his tone grew sober.

With a wince Merlin remembered that there was supposed to be a dinner that evening and he was very late. The dinner wasn’t truly important- not a feast or another grand banquet to impress the allied knights- but that was more reason to look forward to it. Before Merlin could articulate a response Leon spoke up: “Merlin caught a Sidhe outside the castle.”

“Oh, that’s not good, is it?” Gawain said as he tried to judge how not good it was by Leon’s and Merlin’s demeanor.

No one answered the question. Gawain fell in beside the other two and they continued on to the castle each occupied by his own thoughts.

The sounds of a flute could be heard as Merlin turned down the corridor toward the dining room. For a moment Merlin wished he did not have to disrupt the tranquility of the evening with his tale of the Sidhe’s threats. He needed to protect Arthur and part of that involved not upsetting him over magical problems. All Merlin needed to do was keep a closer eye on Arthur and if the Sidhe made any move he would take care of it. Taking a breath, Merlin fought the temptation. It couldn’t work that way anymore- he didn’t want it to work that way anymore. 

“Would the two of you go to the vault and get the Fisher King’s Trident?” Merlin asked his companions. The time had come to see whether the trident really did have any magic. More than that though, Merlin knew he would be more comfortable relating the story of the Sidhe if Leon were not present to interject. Not that Merlin planned to say anything untrue or even misleading, it was just . . . 

Leon nodded. Without a word, he and Gawain turned to go do as Merlin asked.

Merlin was not immediately noticed as he slipped into the dining room. This gave him the chance to watch a moment unobserved. Elyan had brought his sweetheart and his fingers brushed hers as they sat next to each other. Sir Kay, flushed with wine, was having an earnest discussion with Edith while Gwen’s friend Edwina looked on with fascination. Lancelot was making pleasant conversation with Sir Kay’s wife and a lady Merlin could not immediately identify but who had almost certainly come as Gawain’s guest. Gwen was engaged with Percival. As was typical with Percival Gwen was doing most of the talking. There were three empty places at the table. Merlin knew that the one to Arthur’s right had been saved for him and that knowledge softened all the hard places in him.

Arthur was quiet, as he tended to be in social settings, but he was keeping track of the people around him. He was also the first to notice Merlin’s arrival. His face brightened immediately.

“Merlin!” Arthur called in greeting. He was relieved to see Merlin and something of that came through in his voice though he had not intended it. It was silly. Arthur had seen Merlin mere hours ago and on top of that the wizard was notoriously absent-minded. Still, Arthur had worried when he had not shown up with the other guests. 

Before Arthur knew about Merlin’s magic, Arthur had been able to hide his agitation whenever Merlin wasn’t where he was supposed to be behind anger and annoyance. He hadn’t exactly worried for Merlin. To Arthur’s mind Merlin was one of those people who could spill a sack full of gold coins in the darkest alley in the most disreputable part of town in the middle of the night and the worst that would happen would be that someone would yell at him from somewhere upstairs to keep the noise down. The universe sometimes withheld its malice from people incapable of understanding malice and so Arthur had not been worried for Merlin. He had, however, been hurt. That was then. Now, Arthur did worry about Merlin. He did not feel he could show his worry though. It was pride, yes, but it was also a feeling that if he held Merlin as close as he wished to then it would drive Merlin away.

Alerted by Arthur, everyone turned to Merlin. Many people called greetings and a few wanted to know where he had been. Gwen, ever the gracious hostess, came to her feet intending to bring Merlin to the table.

Merlin couldn’t help but smile and for a second he was tempted to put off his tale of the Sidhe until after dinner. Waiting a few hours wouldn’t make a difference. Even as he thought it Merlin dismissed the idea. He shook his head in demurral and waived for Gwen to keep her seat.

“Hello everyone. Sorry I’m late. Um, could I just have a quick word . . .” The last was directed at Arthur.

Arthur nodded slowly. Something had gone wrong. He should have realized when Leon also turned out to be absent. Merlin might be absentminded but Leon had a very precise internal clock. Arthur wished he had gone with Gawain to look for Merlin and Leon earlier. He had wanted to but he feared it would be an overreaction especially since if he went looking then several of the others would probably feel obligated to do so as well.

“What is it?” Arthur asked after leading Merlin into an adjoining room.

When Merlin finished the story Arthur tapped his steepled fingers. “Well, that’s not so far from what we expected.”

“You expected the Sidhe would believe you’re going to be born into the world more than once?” Merlin was somewhat taken aback. He had found several things the Sidhe had said beyond shocking. He still couldn’t get over how cavalierly Jack Thistledown had spoken of Arthur’s life.

“Well, no. I just can’t take that seriously. I took that bit to mean they’ve given up on me which isn’t ideal but couldn’t be called unexpected.” Arthur said. “What I meant was the Sidhe seemed to share the same general outlook as the Cailleach. That is, there is currently a problem with magic; that problem is in some way tied to several magical artifacts- including Excalibur and that they expect me- or someone like me- to do something that will make it better.”

“I asked Leon and Gawain to get the Trident. We should at least know if we actually have the artifacts before we get too far ahead of ourselves.”

“Good idea.” Arthur said. “No point worrying about how we’re going to fix magic before we know if we have the recommended tools.”

“Arthur, are you planning to bring the objects together and use them to call the magic of Albion?” Merlin asked feeling as though that was what Arthur’s sentence implied but also feeling that that couldn’t be Arthur’s intent.

“Yes. Isn’t that what you want?”

“Well . . . maybe.” Truthfully Merlin didn’t know what he wanted. He hadn’t bothered to consider it very deeply because he hadn’t thought it was an option. “But, it’s not what you want.”

Arthur did not answer though his face was drawn into contemplative lines.

“Look, you’ve never said it since lifting the ban and you’ve really tried to be fair- you have been fair. And, I appreciate that- you have no idea how much. But Arthur, you can’t seriously be telling me that you’re fond of magic, that you’re comfortable with it; that you think anything that could strengthen it is a good idea. You-“ Merlin paused suddenly as an idea occurred to him. “You’re not thinking about doing this for me, are you?”

“Of course I’d be doing it for you, Merlin.”

“Oh for . . .” With an inarticulate sound Merlin covered his face with his hands.

“If it makes you feel better I wouldn’t just be doing it for you.” Arthur said smiling.

“You’re being flippant. Don’t be flippant.” Merlin said through his hands before letting them drop to his side.

“All right,” Arthur said quietly. “I’m not comfortable with magic. It-“ Arthur broke off then and a plaintive note entered his voice. “I can’t feel helpless, Merlin. The thought of having no control . . . . I can’t. It’s unendurable. It’s . . And yet, magic makes me feel helpless.”

“It was always something to fear but I underestimated it. I saw the things it did and the things it tried to do but I saw it fail too. I didn’t understand that the evil magic only failed because of you and your magic. I thought that as bad as magic was if you just . . . stood up to it and refused to flinch then it would be all right. God, I was so wrong.” Merlin’s face reflected the writhing misery in his heart and Arthur took two long strides to clasp Merlin’s shoulders. “It’s not your fault, Merlin. I know how much you’ve done. I know how hard you’ve tried. I hate how much this hurts you. You deserve gratitude and I am grateful . . . But, I can’t let you fight all my battles. I can’t be helpless. If I have any power, any power at all, to aid or hinder magic in this land then I have to find out what it is.”

Merlin had not given a verbatim account of his conversation with Jack Thistledown and so it was a hard thing for him that Arthur and the Sidhe had independently used the same phrase to describe the situation. Merlin would have liked to say that if it was magic then that made it Merlin’s battle. This was essentially how Merlin saw things but he also recognized his part in why magic made Arthur feel helpless. More of Merlin’s magic wasn’t going to fix that as much as he might wish it could. “I do understand, Arthur. But, you have already affected the fate of magic in this kingdom. Don’t do this unless you’re absolutely sure it is something you want to do.”

Arthur had spent a great deal of time thinking about magic. Much of that time had been lost to fruitless worry but a few productive ideas had emerged. First, the result of any war on magic would be pyrrhic at best because there was magic in so much of what he loved and what he considered his. Second, magic- like anything else- was most dangerous when it was desperate and under threat. Third, Arthur did not want to spend his life mistrustful of a force that was so much a part of the things and the people who were important to him. These ideas led Arthur to the conclusion that he had to find some way to truly make peace with magic. He had been making efforts to do so but his successes felt trivial and one-sided. It was strange but Arthur knew he would be better able to trust magic if he did something to benefit magic. “It is something I want to do.” 

“All right.” Merlin took a breath. “All right. I suppose we should have a look at the trident then.” Turning to the door Merlin suddenly realized his heart was racing but he couldn’t decide if it was due to excitement or anxiety. 

Upon reentering the dining room, Merlin saw that the musicians were gone along with several of the guests. Lancelot, Kay, Edith, Percival and Elyan were left clustered around Gwen. Leon and Gawain had come back from the vaults and the group had drawn close together to speak in low voices. The Fisher King’s Trident leaned against the wall near the door. By their hushed words and their surreptitious glances toward the trident it was clear that Leon had related all he had heard of what passed between Merlin and Jack Thistledown.

“It seems we have attracted the Sidhe’s attention.” Arthur said to the group as he came into the room and surveyed his anxious audience. 

“The Sidhe are known for malice and mischief but they prefer to fight when they have an insurmountable advantage. They may threaten but I don’t know if more will come of it.” Edith spoke calmly but she was twisting her hands in her lap nervously. She had never encountered faerykind personally and though she knew more about them than most of the people in the room her expertise felt shallow to her suddenly.

“It was all very strange to me and I do not claim to have any proper sense of these things but I think the Sidhe genuinely feared Merlin. The creature made a show of courage but I don’t think it would dare do anything to truly antagonize him.” Leon added.

Anticipating more talk, Merlin drifted over to the table. The food and dishes had not yet been cleared and Merlin reached to help himself to Arthur’s leftovers. Gwen automatically batted his hands away then started fixing him a plate.

“I don’t like the idea of doing nothing,” Kay’s frustration was obvious in his clenched jaw. “It rankles that the Sidhe should send spies and offer insults and threats- even hollow ones. But, my larger concern is that there will be others beside the Sidhe who will be drawn here by the Cup of Life or by other magical artifacts or nosiness or who knows what else. It is unfair to ask Merlin or Emrys to guard against them all. Though this will change in time, he is currently the entirety of our magical protection –No offence.” This last was offered to Edith. The Druid murmured that no offense was taken.

Arthur glanced around the room. He valued the opinions of his companions. Where possible he liked to have their counsel and support. For most of Arthur’s life he had seen these tendencies in himself as a weakness. Even now it still sometimes struck him that he oughtn’t to care what anyone else thought or that- if he were as strong as he ought to be- he would have no need to hone his ideas in discussion. But he felt like that less and less now. “Since at least part of the Sidhe’s interest in Camelot seems to have to do with our magical items, Merlin and I are going to see if we can use those items to our advantage.”

“How so?” Gwen asked trying not to picture a battle of magic.

“By figuring out how to give the Sidhe what they want.” Arthur answered.

“Should we give them what they want?” 

“It doesn’t do us any harm, as far as I can tell, and may do us some good. If there is a problem with the land’s magic then fixing it may settle things down.” Arthur looked at Merlin and Edith for confirmation as he spoke. Merlin nodded and Edith looked thoughtful.

“But as a matter of principle . . ..” Kay really didn’t want to do anything that might look like rewarding the Sidhe for their interference. From what Leon had said that Jack Thistledown character had questioned Arthur’s right to the throne. People fought wars over that sort of thing. With Morgana still asserting her own claim to the crown Kay would prefer to stamp down very hard on that kind of talk.

“It’s not just about the Sidhe.” Arthur sympathized. He didn’t much care for the Sidhe either but Kay’s objections were too parochial. “Besides if we do this we demonstrate a strength they don’t think we have. It may encourage them to deal differently with us in the future.”

Kay still didn’t like it but he had had his say. When no one else spoke up, Arthur smiled. “Merlin, will you take a look at the trident? If we don’t have the Spear of Truth then our next discussion will have to be the pros and cons of going to look for it.”

Merlin shoved a last baby potato into his mouth and wiped his hands on his trousers. He went over to the trident and studied it. There didn’t seem to be anything extraordinary about it and for the first time a small doubt wormed its way into his mind. Pushing the doubt back, Merlin reached out and took hold of the trident’s shaft.

For a second, as Merlin’s fingertips made contact with the wood, the trident shone blindingly bright. Merlin had to squeeze his eyes shut then blink several times before the afterimage cleared. When he could see again the Fisher King’s Trident was gone; replaced by an approximately six foot long staff of Holly.

“Still not a spear.” Gawain volunteered though his voice was softer than usual.

“Magic though.” Lancelot answered.

“Yes.” Merlin agreed distantly. The staff was magic. Merlin felt the pull of it, the gentle promise. This staff made the Sidhe staff, which Merlin had relied on to direct some of his most important magic, feel clumsy and off-balance. This staff burned with guiding light. It revealed the way ahead like a lantern in the darkness. It was a weapon but more than that it was an arrow- a direction.

“I don’t understand.” Gwen said taking in Merlin’s rapt expression. “You must have touched the trident before, Merlin. Why didn’t it change before now?”

“Maybe it feels the nearness of its mates?” Percival suggested and Merlin nodded. When Merlin had wielded Excalibur against the Cup of Life he had felt profound power. He had attributed that mostly to the Cup but looking back it could easily have been the combined power of Excalibur and the Cup. As he thought more on it, Merlin remembered feeling the strong pull of magic when he had Excalibur near the round table. He had attributed those feelings to the general tension of the situation but more had been going on. The four treasures had been close then. Their inchoate power should have been evident but Merlin had been too inexperienced to appreciate what was happening.

It was also possible, Merlin grudgingly considered, that the Spear of Truth would not have revealed itself to him as he had been then. The Fisher King had cryptically announced that there were good reasons for Merlin to overlook the Trident. Might one of those reasons possibly be that wielding the Spear of Truth while involved in a profound deception was not the safest thing to do? 

Drawn by the look on Merlin’s face, Arthur came forward. With a smile, Merlin offered him the staff. He hoped that the magic that was so evident to Merlin would find some way of communicating something of itself to Arthur. As Merlin’s hands left the shaft, there was another flash of light.

“That’s better.” Elyan commented when he could see again. He had been a little disappointed before. The wooden staff had been less impressive than the original trident. Now, though, a spear- gilded and elaborately carved- gleamed in Arthur’s hands. The blade at the point seemed to pull all the light in the room into it as though it were thirsty for it.

“Well, I’ve got to try now.” Gawain said with a grin. Arthur gave it to him after he let his eyes wander up and down the weapon a few times.

“How did it feel to you?” Merlin asked Arthur as Gawain took hold of the spear and it remained as it was.

“It felt like a spear.” Arthur said shrugging a little helplessly. He knew he had held something profoundly magical because it had transformed but he had not sensed the magic. “Well-made, sturdy, but no more than a spear.”

Gawain, who was both disappointed and relieved that the weapon had not changed in his hand, hefted the spear then turned it as though he were assessing its potential as a javelin.

“It inflicts immortal wounds!” Gwen squealed at him. Lancelot took a step forward and both Percival and Kay raised their hands as though to forestall any further motion on Gawain’s part.

“I wasn’t going to throw it.” Gawain said mildly offended at the others’ distress. With exaggerated care he handed the spear to Gwen. The Queen accepted the weapon gingerly though nothing happened as it came into her hands. After that the spear was given from hand to hand but it did not change again until Edith, who was the last to hold it, returned it to Merlin whereupon it once more became a staff.

“Do you suppose it would look different for Emrys?” Elyan was again taken by the ordinariness of the staff. It struck him as odd since the object had been quite ornate as a trident and then as a spear.

“Maybe.” Merlin answered exploring the staff with both hands and magic. “I think it is in its nature to conform somewhat to its surroundings. It might look very grand for Emrys.” The temptation to try it right there and then was strong but Merlin felt too self-conscious to publicly change into the old man’s guise.

“Is it the Spear, then?” Leon asked. It seemed a strange attribute of an object symbolically aligned to truth that it should change its appearance according to circumstance. But then, Lancelot had speculated on the way to the Castle Perilous that each artifact might incorporate something of its opposite. Was the point supposed to be that truth was contextual or was that, as Gawain had suggested, simply Leon’s need to impose rationality on something irrational.

“Yes, I think so.” Merlin said. “That is how this magic feels to me anyway.”

“Well then, that just leaves the Table.” Arthur said. He was going to treat this situation as though it were normal by sheer force of will. “We can fetch the Cup on our way there.”

“You want to bring the treasures together right now?” Gwen could accept that trying to use the magic artifacts was a sound strategy but somehow she had not thought it was going to happen so soon.

“Is there a better time?” Arthur asked seriously. Having decided to make the attempt Arthur was eager to get the whole thing over with but he was willing to believe there might be something that he had not taken into consideration.

“I suppose not.” Gwen answered a little desperately after giving herself a few moments to think of possible reasons. Gwen was surprised again as she got up from her place in anticipation of following Arthur and Merlin to retrieve the Cup when Arthur raised his hand to stop her.

“Just me and Merlin.”

Gwen did not like this pronouncement and judging by the rustling of the others no one else did either. Before offering any objection though, all eyes turned to Merlin. His opinion was needed before anyone felt comfortable completely forming his or her own. Merlin said nothing and thus no one else felt able to protest.

“Whatever else happens after this, we’ll at least have to find a better hiding place for the Cup.” Gwen murmured trying to resign herself to being left behind.

“Where’s the Cup being hidden?” Percival had to ask. He still felt a sense of personal responsibility for the Cup and he did not like to think that it was vulnerable.

“It’s perfectly safe.” Merlin reassured. “It’s in a basket of mending in the servant’s alcove in Arthur’s chambers.”

“You know that is the very first spot I would look for it.” Gawain said laughing.

“I wasn’t hiding it from you, was I?” Merlin said mildly affronted on behalf of his hiding place. Arthur turned away to hide his smile.

“The Queen is right though. That’s hardly a permanent solution.” Percival persisted. He felt keenly the dilemma of the Cup: It had the potential to do great good but if they used it to heal then it would draw all the sick and dying in Britain to Camelot’s gate. The need would overwhelm the Cup’s capacity. Rationing the Cup’s power would be an ethical nightmare. On top of that, there would be constant attempts to steal something so powerful. The sorcerers of Lot’s kingdom had renounced any potential claim on the Cup in no small part to avoid those problems. Yet, to have the power to heal and not to use it at every possible opportunity . . .

“It isn’t a permanent solution but one problem at a time.” Arthur’s words were crisp but he had moved to put a hand on Percival’s shoulder.

“Sire, how long should we wait for your return until . . .?” Lancelot trailed off. He meant ‘until we come looking for you’, but he feared how futile such a thing might sound aloud.

“Dawn?” Arthur looked at Merlin. “It would have to be sorted by then, surely.”

“A round of ale says there’s another magic world or transportation spell somewhere in this.” Gawain said in an aside to Percival. 

“No bet.” Percival murmured his reply.

Not long after that, Arthur and Merlin left. Those who remained composed themselves to wait.  
*  
There was a charge in the air as though there was about to be a thunderstorm. Merlin had sensed it for a while but as soon as he retrieved the Cup of Life from beneath the pile of laundry the air became nearly too thick to breathe. Magic- unsummoned and undirected- lay so close to the surface. As ever, Arthur strode ahead oblivious. Magic was there, on the cusp of being, but Arthur’s only inkling of the incipient maelstrom was Merlin’s restlessness.

“It wasn’t like this when you last saw it?” Arthur asked after pushing open the doors to the room that contained the Round Table.

“No. No, it has definitely gotten bigger.” The old table, covered with the detritus of countless years, that Merlin had first encountered in the abandoned castle could have accommodated approximately a dozen people. The Table that stood before him now was large enough for fifty.

“The whole room has gotten bigger.” Arthur almost sounded irritated. “The ceilings are higher and I have no memory of archways. Where did the space come from?”

“The Castle itself is magic.” Merlin shrugged. “I doubt a dragon dungeon was part of the original design.”

Arthur gave Merlin a narrow look but then he shrugged. “Perhaps. But a great deal of conventional toil, imagination and mathematics has gone into it as well.” 

Merlin nodded. He had been witness to several large building and repair projects over the years and there had been, as Arthur said, a daunting amount of both sweat and math. This was not unexpected. Magic as strong and persistent as that of Camelot’s castle would need a solid foundation of reality if it were to thrive.

Arthur walked around the table, letting his fingers skim the surface of the smoothly polished wood. There were more runes than there had been when the table had been smaller. There seemed to be as many runes as places at the table. Arthur paused about one third of the way around coming to stand in the same place he had taken before though Arthur did not know that. If he had been asked he would not have been able to say why he stopped where he did as opposed to anywhere else. “What now?”

Merlin placed the staff that had been the Fisher King’s Trident on the table and then he put the Cup of Life beside it. He gestured that Arthur should put the sword beside it. The King drew Excalibur and put it with the other talismans. Merlin’s palms were damp and his head ached with the intensity and nearness of power. But even though the treasures were now assembled the magic remained in potential. 

Once before Merlin had opened a door for the magic of the land to manifest. He had been in dire extremity then, cut off from his own magic and unable draw from any other source. Yet, he had done it. Merlin was not in a hurry to repeat that performance though. He wasn’t even entirely sure that he could. Some feats required a level of desperation Merlin could not willingly subject himself to. 

For several moments Merlin considered. He did not dare attempt to use the magic pulsing so close to his as a source for a spell. That might allow the magic to manifest but it would overwhelm the confines of any spell he might try- with unpredictable results. It would be like trying to light a candle by touching it to the sun. Frowning Merlin recalled the Castle Perilous. That magic had involved creating a Castle Perilous shaped space in the world and then dragging the Castle into it. He might adapt . . .Merlin focused his mind. Considering and dismissing various alterations to what the Bhuidseach had shown him. Finally, he began to craft an opening- a small opening- just the tiniest crack between where he was and where the magic waited.

While Merlin worked Arthur watched. Arthur wanted to ask Merlin what he was doing but he doubted he would understand the answer even if Merlin gave him one. He knew the wizard was feeling his way along and there was no benefit in disturbing or distracting him. Still, it was a struggle not to insist on explanations. There was nothing else Arthur could give his mind to as he waited. He felt the need to prepare for what was coming but he had no idea of what was coming and thus he had no idea how to prepare. 

Just as Arthur was wondering if it would distract Merlin if he started pacing, something happened. Arthur’s mind reached to describe the something by sight or sound but his senses could not identify what had been perceived. Arthur looked around trying to decipher how the world was different but he could not. It was just a feeling, a sense of something near, something familiar. Arthur looked at Merlin and the feeling of familiar presence intensified but Merlin seemed the same. The wizard’s eyes, which had flickered both blue and gold in the last few minutes, burned a gold so intense it was almost painful then they settled back to their blue and gold shimmer.

Arthur’s sense of presence grew overpowering and he closed his eyes. When he opened them again he saw that there were people there- lots of people. Gwen was standing beside him, looking straight ahead toward the center of the table. He had told her not to come. He opened his mouth to ask why she had not done as he had asked but then he realized it was not Gwen, or perhaps it was but she wasn’t really there. The more he tried to focus on her image the more she seemed to slip from his perception. If he did not try to see her, if he did not try to describe her eyes or expression or hair or her dress then he was certain she was there- Gwen, his Gwen. The moment he tried to focus on any particular feature though it seemed as if Gwen wasn’t there at all.

Arthur would have turned back to Merlin but as he looked past Gwen he saw Lancelot standing at Gwen’s left. “Lancelot.” Arthur spoke the knight’s name without intending to. Lancelot was staring ahead as Gwen was. He did not turn at the sound of his name and yet for a brief moment the knight’s image gained piercing clarity. In the next second though, Lancelot was as indistinct as Guinevere- present but only so long as Arthur did not rely on the information his eyes were trying to give him. Arthur allowed his attention to shift from Lancelot and there was Leon, and next to Leon, Gawain. They were themselves and yet subtly different. It reminded Arthur vaguely of physical alteration of the people in Elaine’s world.

Knights stood all around the table. Arthur knew them all in the beginning: Kay, Bedivere, Elyan, Percival, Gareth, Uwain . . . There was even Alain who was from Powys and had come to join the allied knights. As he went around the table, though, Arthur no longer recognized the faces of the men- the men and women, for there were women too. The table was now bigger than could be possible extending far beyond any room, further than Arthur’s eyes could see except that Arthur could see. There were sorcerers among those at the table. Arthur did not know how he knew that but he did. The sorcerers possessed all kinds and degrees of magic. Some were creatures of magic. Some looked entirely human and some seemed utterly fanciful. 

Arthur did not know these men and women but he did know them. He could have called each one and somehow their names would have slipped easily from his tongue. Once he thought he saw Morgana, moving as a shadow among those gathered but she was gone too quickly for him to be sure. Arthur was fascinated and he might have looked a long time but he had come to realize that what he was witnessing came from the treasures’ magic. It had been called forth for a purpose. There was something that Arthur was meant to do.

“Do you see what I see? Is it a vision of the future? A prophecy?” Arthur asked as he tore his gaze from the ever-expanding circumference of the table and looked to Merlin.

“I see it. It is the future but also more than that.”

Hearing Merlin’s voice fully restored Arthur to his purpose. He was not here for visions. “What- what am I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know, Arthur.” Merlin wanted to help but the magic overwhelmed him. He had tried to control the flow of it but it had gushed through the opening he had made for it. It was all around him now. The awareness that he could not overcome the surging tide surrounding him struck Merlin and for a moment panicked fear rushed through him but strangely it subsided and he found that if he did not struggle he could float along with the magic. 

Merlin turned and looked into Arthur’s face; Arthur who was not magic in himself; Arthur who could cast no spell. Merlin smiled. It was not one of his usual broad grins but something quieter, more peaceful. “But whatever needs to be done, I know you can do it.”

Arthur let himself take a deep breath in and out. Once again he looked around. He had somehow expected- if expected could possibly be the right word to describe a situation so filled with uncertainty- some kind of confrontation like he had had with the Cailleach or like Merlin had had with the Sidhe. Failing that he had expected some kind of ordeal like what Percival, Lancelot, Leon and Elyan had undergone in the Castle Perilous. Here, a great force of magic was obviously- even obviously to Arthur- present but no more than that. Arthur did not see a path before him.

Resisting a renewed urge to give in to either frustration or panic, Arthur thought back on what the Cailleach had described. The magic of the land was drifting athwart the world. The connection between the two had altered, grown attenuated but also misaligned so that the magic and the land reflected distortions of one another. Arthur could not really even understand that let alone find a way to fix it. The Cailleach had called it a kind of exile and Arthur did think he had some idea of what that meant. To be separated from what made one whole; to be kept apart by lies and fear and anger, Arthur did have an idea of what that meant.

But how could it be in Arthur’s power to mend the separation? He had changed the laws. He had done what he could to reach out to those with magic. He had plans to do more but moving too fast would put the entire process in danger. Even so, Arthur’s ultimate intention was the full integration of sorcerers and magickind into civil society. What more was wanted? In the name of duty and in service to fairness Arthur had extended his hand as far as he could. 

Yet, though Arthur was committed to his plan it was not the world he had dreamed of making when, as a child, he had looked out over Camelot from his window and wondered ‘what sort of King will I be.’ Welcoming magic was an exercise in ethics. It was pragmatism. It was making the best of a bad situation. Arthur’s love for Merlin made the task easier. His sorrow for lives needlessly lost spurred him forward. Guilt, too, played its part in committing Arthur to magic but in the end accepting magic was a matter of principle rather than personal desire.

But what of that? No one could expect him to love magic. Could they? The sense of presence that had been with him since the treasures came together suddenly intensified. The air stirred against Arthur’s skin. He thought someone called his name but he didn’t hear any sound. He shook his head. No, it was preposterous. It was not at all clear that magic was capable of loving or desiring love, or even if it made sense to think of magic as a single and distinct force. 

Even leaving all that aside, it was still preposterous. Magic could not want love from Arthur. If magic did not actually hate Arthur- and there were more than a few sorcerers who did hate him- then it was indifferent to him. And that was entirely reasonable. This was politics- of a kind- and feelings didn’t have to come into politics. Feelings didn’t matter. But even if by some bizarre accident of fate his feeling did matter then Arthur could muster cordiality. That was what he offered and that was what he would expect in return. That was enough

How could anyone ask for more than that? If love must be spoken of then, all right, Arthur loved Merlin. So there. Merlin was magic and Arthur loved Merlin. If magic wanted his love then let it satisfy itself via the transitive property and have done.

But of course magic did not want him to love it. It had to be a mere idle fancy but indignation at the idea still fired in Arthur. Arthur had not forgotten what deeds magic had wrought. He forgave. He accepted. He allowed for complexity. He understood there was fault on all sides. He acknowledged himself far from innocent in magic’s history in Camelot. All of that, he could do but, bloody hell, love! It was out of the question, even offensive. Magic did good things. Arthur did not dispute that but Uther had been a good king in many ways too. A fair-minded sorcerer might even admit as much. Did it follow from that that there could only be peace once the sorcerers could love Uther? Uther himself would probably be more realistic than that.

Perhaps the Sidhe were right after all and they would have to find another man to solve their problem. Feeling helpless and angry and defeated, Arthur turned to Merlin. It was time to end this. He was about to say as much when he caught sight of Merlin’s face. Arthur did love Merlin. He had a feeling of connection with the familiar but still unknown sorcerers who he had seen gather around the table. There were others with magic that he could begin to care for, Edith, the Lady of the Lake . . . 

Perhaps Arthur was not yet able or even willing to love magic in and of itself but he was not yet quite ready to give up. There had to be something else. But even though Arthur racked his brain no other idea occurred to him. Feelings of futility once more crept in upon him. What was he supposed to do? What power was in him that could be of any use to magic? What did magic want? The Cailleach had spoken as though magic had somehow lost its way; like it was missing something and it couldn’t find it. All right, so Arthur could help magic find what it was missing or maybe show it the way back to where it was supposed to be. Arthur was not necessarily unwilling but he couldn’t communicate with magic.

Arthur took a slow deep breath. He couldn’t communicate with magic. Why was that? Well, obviously, he wasn’t magic. He couldn’t use magic so why should he be able to communicate with it? Of course, he hadn’t tried before. Why would he? But, even now when the presence of magic was so strong that even Arthur himself could perceive it, he wasn’t really trying. He might be thinking loudly but he wasn’t trying to communicate. If he could think of magic- not as magic- but as, well, anything besides magic, then the first thing he would do when he found out it needed something from him was obvious. Preparing to feel foolish, Arthur closed his eyes and let his mind reach toward the sense of presence. Speaking aloud he said: “I am Arthur Pendragon. I am here. I may not be able to help you but I will listen.”

As soon as the words were spoken, the vague sense of presence solidified. Arthur recognized it. It had been with him before- many times. But it had never been concrete enough to see as anything but a stroke of luck, a ray of sunshine, a glance of encouragement, a deep breath, a whispered promise. Then it was gone.

All of his senses dulled. He heard and saw as though he were underwater. He felt weak and he stumbled a ways until he came to a wall. He leaned his back against it and slid to the floor. After a little time, Merlin was beside him. Merlin’s arms slid around Arthur’s shoulders and he put his head against Arthur’s shoulder. The touch restored the normal acuity of Arthur’s senses but the presence was still gone.

“I could- maybe, I could . . . try again.” Arthur murmured the words into his chest. Any further away and Merlin would not have heard him.

“Try what?” Merlin asked. He kept one arm around Arthur but moved a little so they sat side by side.

Arthur could not answer. Despite all his anxiety, throughout all his worry and self-doubt, it still came as an utter shock to Arthur that he had failed. He had done everything he could to protect himself. He had derided prophecy. He had distanced himself from any expectation of magical aptitude. He had refused to admit- even to himself- how much he wanted- not merely needed, but wanted- to understand magic. With all that, Arthur had still somehow deep inside himself expected that he could bridge the distance between magic and the world he understood.

“Try what?” Merlin asked again. He felt languid and satisfied as though after a big meal.

Arthur raised his head to look at Merlin. “The treasures.” His voice was thick. 

“If you like.” Merlin could not keep from smiling. He let his hand run over Arthur’s hair twice before letting it come to rest on Arthur’s shoulder. He knew he shouldn’t but it couldn’t matter that much- not now, not in the moment. “Not too often though. Summoning this much magic- best not to do it unless you need something specific.”

“Are you making fun of me?” There was a thread of hurt in the question but more curiosity. It was implausible that Merlin would tease him now and yet the wizard seemed almost smug.

“Not that I was aware. I could if you like though.” Merlin had begun cheerfully, but even through his dreamy contentment he was beginning to see that something was amiss. “What’s wrong?”

Arthur didn’t answer and Merlin repeated more urgently, “Arthur, what’s wrong?”

“It’s gone. The . . .” Arthur’s hand opened and closed as though he were literally grasping for the right word. “The feeling. It’s gone. I couldn’t do it. You know, I actually thought I could.” Arthur’s voice got high on the last sentence. It felt a shameful and damning admission.

“It’s not gone.”

“I can’t feel it anymore.”

“I can.” The particular enchantment that had permitted Arthur to perceive magic had dissipated but magic remained. Merlin was more acutely aware of that than he had ever been. He knew if he drew from the magic around him it would come with a newfound ease. It was very exciting. “The concentration of magic has diminished- it is here only in potential- but that’s a good thing. It really is dodgy to keep so much magic together for a long time- especially if you don’t have a purpose for it.”

“But I couldn’t . . .” Arthur did not have the wherewithal to attempt a description of what he could not do.

“Arthur, it’s done.” Merlin tried to invest his words with the seriousness they deserved but the smile that came up from within him demanded expression. Not even in the crystal cave had Merlin been surrounded by magic as potent as what had been summoned here. Merlin had tried to explain that magic held no malevolence in itself. He had described magic as neutral, as a mere instrument. That was not precisely right. Very powerful magic did possess volition but even then a sufficiently powerful sorcerer could compel the magic to do his bidding. The thing that Merlin had never dared to try and explain, for fear of being disbelieved and for fear of having been caught obfuscating the fact that there was some intrinsically malevolent magic, was that the magic of the land loved Arthur. Diffuse but all pervasive, it knew him and it recognized him as its own but it could not find him. Even when he seemed closest he was always just out of reach. He would turn away as though he did not know it or recognize it. With the treasures, so much magic could come together at one time and place. Arthur was there and this time he did not turn away. Merlin felt exultant.

“But the magic went away.” Arthur said but then stopped as Merlin’s previous words caught up to him. “It didn’t go away?”

“It didn’t go away. It is stronger now.”

“I made a promise.”

“I know.”

“But how can I keep that promise if I can’t . . . hear?” The despair of earlier was coming back to Arthur.

“There will be certain times and places . . . you will hear.”

“The magic is here now? Has it always been?”

“Not in such strength but there is almost always some around.”

“Can you- Are you able to talk to it?”

“No. Sometimes I feel a hint of something like an emotion but no I can’t exactly talk to it. With spells I can command a little of it- but it’s not the same.”

Suddenly afraid to believe, the ugly thought crossed Arthur’s mind that Merlin was lying to him again- to save his pride or protect his confidence. The thought was unbearable and Arthur squeezed his eyes tight shut against it. “Merlin, if it isn’t true . . . Merlin, you have to tell me.”

“If I were making this up,” Merlin was telling the truth and the intensity of his sincerity somehow drove him into humor. “I would have added in fireworks.”

Arthur’s brief laugh was hard on the edges and close to hysterical. But his next few breaths came more naturally.

“I know it’s a hard thing to take on faith. Maybe there’s a way . . . There’s got to be a less elaborate way of showing you magic. I could-“

“No, it’s all right.” Arthur said straightening a little and putting an arm around Merlin. The maneuver was clumsy and required a bit of effort because of how the King had slumped against the wall and because Merlin already had his own arm around Arthur. “It was . . . Well, if I use the word ‘beautiful’ you are strictly forbidden to say ‘I told you so’ or I will take it back.” Merlin nodded his solemn acknowledgement of this but then quickly turned his face away because there was no way the pleasure within him could be kept off his face.

“There was beauty in it but it was . . . exhausting. I’ll take your word that all is as it should be.”

“It may not be just my word. This cannot have gone unnoticed among the Sidhe.” The change in the feel of the land’s magic had been subtle but profound. Merlin had closely observed events but he wondered what this night had felt like for others. Would most sorcerers even notice the difference? Magic creatures would know something had changed but would they know what? The Sidhe, at least, should have a good guess. Merlin’s smile brightened further.

“Will it make the Sidhe friends?”

“Probably not.” Merlin conceded. “It might convince them to adjust tack, though. They will no longer be able to pretend you are anything other than what you are.”

“Well, that is something.” Arthur found he could contemplate the Sidhe and other such creatures with a remarkable- even unprecedented- calm. Something had changed for him although it was sinking in slowly. He was as vulnerable to hostile sorcerers and magic creatures as he ever had been. The magic of the land could not protect him even if it were willing but the fact that, somehow, it seemed as though it would be willing mattered a great deal. It could not protect him in the way Merlin could but somehow magic supported him. It felt like it did knowing the people of Camelot supported him. Neither could keep him from a sorcerous lightning bolt or an arrow in the neck but they were foundations of strength that could not be taken from him, that could outlast any threat.

“Ready to go back. The others are probably worried.” Matching action to his words, Merlin hauled himself upright. Arthur who was becoming increasingly aware of the hard stone floor and the suboptimal arrangement of his limbs upon it, nodded. As he got up Arthur noticed for the first time that before coming over to him after the magic ended, Merlin had carefully taken Excalibur and the Spear- still in its staff form- from the table and leaned them against the wall at a distance from each other of several yards. The Cup had been returned to the sack it had been carried in.

“I suppose we will have to find a place for this as well as for the cup.” Merlin said running a hand along the polished wood of the former trident. 

Sheathing Excalibur, Arthur turned his attention to the Staff/spear. “You don’t want to keep it with you?”

“I- Well, is that a good idea?” Merlin did want to keep it with him but it was dangerous and . . . dangerous.

“I don’t see why not. It suits you. And like you it seems to have the power to adjust its form to match the circumstances. If it would be of use to you then you should keep it.”

“It is a nice staff- really nice. And it does help that it can be inconspicuous when expedient. Maybe I should keep it with me. If it works out I could even return the Sidhe’s staff. Although I’m not sure what they would make of that gesture.”

“Well, Gwen would be pleased if you sent the Sidhe staff back.” Arthur found Merlin’s eagerness to be persuaded amusing.

“Why would Gwen care?”

“She thinks the Sidhe staff is tacky.”

“She never told me that.” Merlin said taken aback. It was late enough that there were few people in the corridors but Arthur and Merlin kept their voices low as they made their way back to the dining room.

“Probably wanted to spare your feelings.”

“It wasn’t as though it were made for its appearance. Still, I suppose Emrys could do with a little more polish.” When Merlin had first conceived of the old man disguise, the only factor he had cared about was that it be a disguise. Time had passed and Emrys was a grand wizard, wise and powerful and so forth. He oughtn’t to look either gaudy or cheap.

“I’ll just leave that to you and Gwen, shall I.” Arthur drawled drawing to a halt at the door. Merlin rolled his eyes and then followed Arthur in to reassure their companions.

“Did it go well?” Gwen asked before Merlin had the chance to close the door. “Edith said she thought so but didn’t want to say for sure.”

“It went well.”

There was a collective sigh. Merlin saw that Edith was wearing the biggest smile he had ever seen on her face. He made a note to ask her how the magic change felt to her. She wasn’t at all powerful but she had known a change was coming.

“So that’s that, then?” Gawain asked dusting his hands. “We’re friends with faery-kind?”

“You’re deliberately over-simplifying.” Edith managed to look down her nose at Gawain despite being a great deal shorter than he was.

“I think faery-kind will be more inclined to talk to us now. Whatever else they do they will have to face certain realities now.” Merlin cut in before Gawain could capitalize on the Druid’s annoyance. Everyone found this news very satisfactory and though some of the group might have had more questions, it was late and the chances that the answers to those questions would be understood even if they could be supplied was small.

“We- while you were gone-“ Elyan addressed Arthur and Merlin shyly. “We were talking about what could be done with the Cup of Life.”

“Yes?” Arthur turned to Elyan in mild surprise.

“I thought- we thought, well, at first it seemed like it might be a good idea if the Lady of the Lake were to look after it. She kept Excalibur safe and she might be better suited to know how to best use the Cup’s healing powers.”

Arthur nodded, interested. Merlin was interested as well. He had also considered the possibility of leaving the Cup in Freya’s care but he had rejected it before making the suggestion. Using the Cup would draw unwanted attention to Freya’s home.

“But then, I remembered the story about the monster hatched in the cistern.” The story of the Afanc had been one of the magical incidents Gwen had decided to share with her brother because it had affected their father and because it was a fairly innocuous tale that required only the least tweaking to reflect well on everyone. From Elyan it had naturally come to be shared with the other knights. In truth, Gwen liked the story- not the part about being accused of witchcraft, obviously, but the part where Arthur, Merlin and Morgana had all stood up for her.

“Why not keep the Cup there? The monster brought sickness to all of Camelot but the Cup, well, maybe it could impart some of its healing power to everyone.” Elyan was excited by his idea and he looked hopefully to Arthur.

“That could work.” Merlin was sorry he had not thought of the idea himself. The Cup’s power could be shared equally with everyone but it could be hidden at the same time.

“But can we be certain- absolutely certain- that whatever healing is done will not create an equal portion of suffering?” Leon had heard Elyan’s idea with trepidation. Absent a guarantee that the Old Religion’s preoccupation with balance would not bind them Leon did not see how the Cup could be used in any way.

“The power of the Old Religion is broken.” Edith spoke softly and there was something solemn in her voice that fell just short of regret. “If it was not before then it is after this night’s work. But, even when the Old Religion constrained magic to its strictures the most powerful were always able to decide for themselves what constituted balance. Perhaps that was why the Old Religion had to fail in the end- it did not respect its own rules.”

There was silence after this speech until Arthur turned to Percival. “What are your thoughts?”

Percival looked up in surprise and saw that the King was regarding him earnestly. “I don’t- Sire, what would I-“ Percival stopped and took a breath. “The Cup’s magic killed my family. What was the balance there? There can’t be balance for something like that. So, if there was no balance for such a horrible thing then why should the good have a cost but not the evil? If Merlin agrees the Cup can be used without causing suffering then I think,” The image of Cariad’s pale, frightened face appeared before Percival’s eyes. “I think we have to do it.”

“First thing in the morning, Percival, Elyan, Leon and Lancelot take the Cup of Life to the cistern within the vaults.” Arthur picked up the Cup from where Merlin had set it down on the dining table and put it into Percival’s hands. The big knight accepted it with gravity but a faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he stared down at the ancient metal.

Watching, Merlin wondered if it was possible that the healing the Cup would do now would be what made the balance for all the death that had been brought about before but somehow he didn’t think so. He did not know exactly what had happened when the Cup was used to enable Arthur’s birth but Merlin had a good sense of how much manipulation had gone into choosing a victim to buy a cure for the Questing Beast. Had any of that been strict magical necessity or had it been Numueh and the Old Religion’s need to keep control of a valuable resource? 

Soon afterward everyone said their good nights. As Merlin walked lightly through the corridors toward his tower rooms the awareness of the subtle change in the magic surrounding him drew his attention again. In some ways, it was such a tiny thing, just the sun emerging from behind a cloud, a good stretch of the limbs- so simple. Yet, Merlin had seen Arthur’s face. He had called magic beautiful. He had understood something about it that Merlin suspected he might have always understood but had simply been too cautious- and perhaps too hurt- to acknowledge to himself. And the magic! Never having known anything else Merlin had not realized the magic of the land had felt the rejection of the world that supported it and had mourned. Now his own magic sang in fellowship. Merlin felt like flying. He thought he might try.  
*


	15. Chapter 15

The horses hitched to the almost overflowing wagon stood stoically as servants and men-at-arms- under the critical eye of Gwen- stacked, stuffed, jostled and rearranged a variety of boxes, bales and barrels. Gwen was wearing a yellow dress with flowers embroidered on the sleeves and hem. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail and she had not bothered with makeup. Since Lancelot’s return to Camelot he had grown accustomed to seeing Gwen dressed in very fine clothes with her hair elaborately coiffured. He had liked this. Gwen deserved all the samite and miniver that there was in the world. She should be adorned in the brightest gems and possess rich and beautiful things. Yet, she was no less regal, no less beautiful with her hair tied back and her dress threadbare at the elbows and cuffs. 

Lancelot had tried to help but he had been waived away with determination. Bemused, Lancelot retreated to stand with Percival a few yards distant where he held their horses’ reins. The big knight smiled but did not otherwise comment as he allowed Lancelot to take his horse and gave his own an affectionate pat. Lancelot smiled back but his eyes quickly returned to watch Gwen as she worked.

It had been a little more than a week since he and the others knights who had ventured within the Castle Perilous had put the Cup of Life into the cistern. Lancelot- and the others- had been paying close attention to the water since then but though sometimes one or another of them would suggest that maybe it tasted a little fresher nothing dramatic happened. Lancelot was not the only who found this lack of apparent result perfectly acceptable. Elyan might have been a little disappointed though.

Thinking of Elyan and of all his friends tempted Lancelot to sigh. In the days since returning to Camelot Lancelot rejoiced in a thousand little things. There had been changes in Camelot since Lancelot’s death but he was not surprised by those changes. He had expected them. The pall of Uther’s cynicism and ruthless self-interest was gone now. There was less fear and more hope. An atmosphere of excitement even risk prevailed. There was some anxiety accompanying these changes but the anxiety was mitigated by a sense of safety made possible by a community of trust. Lancelot had expected all this. This was how it was meant to be and anything else was the aberration. Likewise, he was gratified but not surprised by the solicitude of his friends. Percival and Leon made sure that he was never alone unless he wanted to be and everyone took pains to welcome him in their own way- even Gawain. This was still not exactly a surprise but Gawain and Lancelot had never seemed to have much in common before. 

They had gotten along but Lancelot did not have much interest in drinking or wenching and Gawain did not have much interest in early morning training or anything that might smack of sincerity. It was possible that in this small thing Lancelot had allowed his experience in Elaine’s world to color his memory for he had thought of Gawain as a dilettante- carried on the wave of his appetites and careless of his destination. But this was not so. Lancelot wondered if this maturity he saw in Gawain was a result of time or whether something else had intervened. Perhaps it was that he no longer kept the circumstances of his birth secret. This seemed such a little thing but secrets could gnaw on a person- distort him. In any event, Lancelot felt Gawain was a much more interesting person without secrets than with and he had enjoyed the few- relatively- quiet evening he had spent with him in the Rising Sun.

Shifting his feet slightly, Lancelot turned his gaze upward. The King’s chambers overlooked the courtyard where Lancelot was preparing to depart and Lancelot caught sight of Merlin at the window. The sorcerer grinned and waived. Lancelot returned the gesture. He was so happy for Merlin, so glad that he was finally getting some acknowledgment for his deeds. Lancelot would have liked everyone to know all about Merlin’s bravery but the great sorcerer remained oddly shy. Modesty, humility, these were admirable qualities but as Lancelot’s own heart yearned for honor and recognition- glory- it was difficult to imagine that someone else might not share the same desire. It didn’t really matter though- so long as Arthur knew, and Gwen and those who Merlin most wished to share with.

Lancelot sighed. He was glad to see Arthur and Merlin so happy together. He had always wanted that for them- always believed that it would come as soon as circumstance and time allowed. Arthur, the Great King; Merlin the Great Mage, Lancelot could not imagine better men and the harmony between them gave him an almost child-like feeling of safety. Even so, it was an ache in his heart that Lancelot could not have the casual closeness Arthur and Merlin shared with his own beloved because, of course, he did love Gwen. There was no point to denying it. She was his Queen and every scrap of glory, every shred of honor that he won he would give to her. It did not matter that he had a wife. Elaine and their child would have whatever material wealth Lancelot might acquire. They would have his love but they were not the driving passion of his life. It did not matter that Gwen was married- or rather that did matter because Gwen was Queen and Arthur King. The two were one and to try and divide them was to diminish them all. But Lancelot had no wish to divide them. The idea was abhorrent. How could he explain that though? It was easier for Arthur and Merlin. They were able to be who they were without everyone so quick to make assumptions or apply labels.

Shaking his head at his own folly, Lancelot could not truly resent Arthur and Merlin. Had they not faced and overcome their own challenges. With time, might not Lancelot and Gwen come to have something close akin. Was he not already more content than he had ever realistically expected? Perhaps that was the problem: He was leaving much sooner than he wanted. He did not feel ready to face Elaine or even the Lady. He did not want to leave Gwen or Camelot. But, as Arthur and the allied knights would be going to the Southern shore in about ten days Lancelot had to go now if he expected to have time to see Elaine situated and then rejoin the others in the south before the raiding season started. The raiding season would last the summer. In fall Elaine would have the baby and Lancelot felt he should be there for that. Lancelot would probably not be back in Camelot before winter.

Percival was coming with him and Lancelot appreciated the moral support. He would also be traveling with Sir Pelles, a knight he did not know very well, a scribe and three servants. Sir Pelles and the scribe were coming to talk to the Lady and to sort out with her the details of her agreement with Camelot. Some of the supplies that Gwen was arranging in the wagon were gifts for the Lady- some plants and herbs not native to the lake shore, a few books, some tools and building materials. These could be thought of as gifts for Nynaeve as much as for the Lady. It was difficult to speculate what needs or wants the Lady of the Lake might have but Nynaeve was human and would appreciate some of the comforts of civilization. Lancelot would like to spend some time fixing and improving the small cottage he and Nynaeve had shared while he recovered from the Veil. He knew he was unlikely to get the chance though.

The rest of wagon’s space was given over to items needful in setting up a household. Lancelot had given no thought- unless helpless bewilderment counted as thought- to living arrangements. He had maps and he knew there were villages between Camelot and the lake. He had money enough for a cottage and to pay servants to see that Elaine was well looked after. It did occur to him that Elaine might want something more grand. Since Arthur was generous and Elaine had hinted that she might not be averse to exchanging her knowledge of sorcery with the magic-lorn kingdom for goods and services then she might eventually get her way. 

Lancelot found it all immensely daunting. In his weaker moments he fantasized about running away. He would not of course. He had responsibilities and far, far too much to lose. The practical matters did weigh him down but he also had hope that he and Elaine could find some life together that gave them both a measure of contentment. He thought he might love her and if he did not then he thought he might learn to do so. She had hurt him, used him, taken advantage of his vulnerability. Perhaps, if his love for her had been deeper then it would have been a hurt he could not recover from. As it was sympathy and compassion did not lie beyond his reach. 

“Everything’s been packed.” Gwen said coming up to Lancelot and Percival brushing her hands on her skirt. “It should stay secure as long as you don’t go digging around until you’re ready to unpack.”

“Thank you.” Gwen’s help had not strictly been needed but she liked to organize things. She had also wanted to see Lancelot off. Percival melted back several paces.

“You will write? I shall miss you but I will be happier knowing you are well.”

“I will, my Lady.”

“Good, well . . . Take care of yourself, Lancelot.” Gwen put a hand on Lancelot’s shoulder. There was much more she wanted to say but she couldn’t think of any of it. She opened her mouth to say, ‘I’ll miss you’ but realized just in time that she’d already said it.

Lancelot nodded then took the hand Gwen had put on his arm and held it in both his own. “You know if you ever need me, Gwen, for anything . . .”

“I know. Farewell, Sir Knight.”

Dropping to a knee, Lancelot touched Gwen’s hand to his lips. The Queen gave him a last smile before turning from him. Gwen did not look back as she gathered her skirt and climbed the steps back into the castle. Nor did Lancelot look back as he mounted his horse, waited for the wagon driver to get settled and followed the small procession out through the town. It wasn’t necessary. They both knew they would see each other again.  
*  
“What are they putting in the wagon?” Merlin asked leaning casually against the window frame.

“How the devil would I know? You’re the one looking at it.” Arthur was seated at the table carefully moving the fruit to the side of his plate.

“It’s wrapped in cloth, tall, long but very flat.”

“It’s probably the mirror, then.” Arthur said. With the fruit no longer in a position to interfere Arthur took a bite of his eggs.

“What mirror?”

“It’s a gift for Elaine.”

“From Gwen?” Merlin asked surprised. Gwen was taking great pains to make sure the package was settled as snugly as possible.

“Well, technically, it’s a wedding gift from me and Gwen to Lancelot and Elaine. But, I didn’t put any thought into it and I doubt Lancelot will get a lot of use out of it so, yes, it’s from Gwen to Elaine.”

Merlin hummed softly. “I hope it works out: Lancelot and Elaine. I mean, it’s strange but . . . Well, you never know. I’m still not sure what to make of Elaine.”

“Me either.” Arthur had finished his eggs and was now working on the sausages. “But, I’ve moderated my opinion since I first met her.”

Merlin snorted. “Well, you’d have to, wouldn’t you. Revulsion would not be too strong a word, Arthur. Don’t deny it. I was there.”

“She did not make a good first impression but I’m hoping she might prove useful.”

“Oh, yes?” Merlin left the window and wandered over to the table. He grabbed at a roll.

“Hey! Why don’t you eat the fruit?”

“Why don’t you eat the fruit?” Merlin said, mouth full of pastry.

“I’m saving it for Gwen.” Arthur lied.

“You might have been saving the roll for me.” Merlin suggested innocently.

“I wasn’t. Honestly, there’s a basket of them. Why take mine?”

“Tastes better.” This was actually true though the reason why that should be true did not lend itself to ready explanation. With an intentionally sweet smile Merlin reached into the basket of rolls and held it out to Arthur. Though he sighed, Arthur accepted the bread and took a bite.

“So what use is Elaine?” Merlin asked after several moments of chewing. 

“Pardon?”

“Why do you think Elaine might be useful?” Arthur was eager to recruit trustworthy sorcerers from a diversity of backgrounds. The Druids had been helpful and generous- remarkably so, all things considered- but Arthur did not want to rely on them and their way of viewing magic disproportionately. Merlin agreed in principle but he wasn’t sure if Elaine could be trusted to pull in harness.

“She might be convinced to arrange a meeting with the dryads. If Albion is made of alliances between kingdoms then it’s time to give more thought to the kingdoms of magical folks. The dryads sound like a comparatively safe next step.” Arthur was still far from liking or trusting Elaine but he felt she could be reasoned with. If Arthur were inclined to indulge in a little condescending speculation he would guess that her experience of her own dream world had not met all her expectations. If she were wise- and there was evidence that she was at least clever- might she not be willing to consider that there were advantages to being helpful?

“And the dragons?” Merlin asked. “Do you want to meet with Kilgharrah as well?”

“Eventually, yes.” Arthur smiled a little. “Dragons too. Though I’m not in a hurry there.”

Arthur and Merlin continued to talk for a while. Their conversation flitted from topic to topic. Gwen would return soon and when she did she would be welcome. Until then, for a little bit of time, it was Arthur and Merlin and each was content.  
*  
Epilog  
The rain had been falling in a steady patter for hours. Morgana sat beneath a tree with her arms around her knees thoroughly drenched. She might have thickened the air above her into something that would afford a little shelter but she didn’t bother. She was miserable- utterly so. The rain wasn’t making it any worse.

It had been days since the fiasco at the Castle Perilous though Morgana had lost track of how many. She didn’t know how it had all slipped away from her. Emrys had emerged from nowhere to thwart her, but how? She had been within her magic shield. It didn’t make sense.

There were other things that didn’t make sense too. She gritted her teeth. Merlin had lied to her. Arthur had not been within the Castle. It wasn’t surprising that Merlin would lie but usually his lies were so transparent. And Arthur? How had he resisted the draw of the Castle? Her brother could not walk away from the opportunity to win glory- unless, somehow he had not been allowed in. But why should that be? Then there had been the knight- Lancelot. He was supposed to be dead. He was supposed to be dead but he had almost killed her. The memory of that sent her heart into frantic beating. She had almost died, a sword stuck through her chest like some nameless peasant. For a moment rage burned through her fear but Morgana had already spent long hours screaming, pulling her hair and tearing at her clothes. She was mostly just tired now.

She did not know what to do next. After Lancelot and Emrys’s spells she had not pursued the knights personally. She feared to leave her magic shield even as it seemed Emrys had been able to penetrate it to some extent. She had sent her remaining men in pursuit though. She had felt safer because she thought that though she could not find Emrys he would stay with the men from Camelot. If the evil wizard had a weakness it was his preoccupation with her kingdom and her brother. In time, Morgana would find a way of using that to break him. One day she would be the one with the power. Then they’d all just see what it felt like when everything they’d worked so hard for went wrong.

The men she had sent after the knights stopped their pursuit too soon. Only some of them came back to her, some had simply kept running helter-skelter. They reported seeing a monstrous army emerge from nowhere and then the knights they had been following simply disappeared. Morgana had been disgusted. Why was she cursed with such weak men? She had left them after that. She might have taken them with her but some of them were injured and they were all stupid. They couldn’t do anything without being told and even though Morgana had encouraged that she was tired of looking after the dullards.

She’d stopped at a farmhouse after about a day of wandering. She had eaten and found a new cloak but the cowering farmer and his wife were not able to provide her the comforts she had craved. She’d wanted a hot bath in a spacious tub with fragrant soap and oils for her hair. She’d wanted a cup of good wine and to feel soft cloth against her skin. She wanted to be clean and to be surrounded by pretty things but the straw of the barn was cleaner than the couple’s bed and Morgana did not stay long.

In her listlessness, Morgana thought she might seek out one of the petty kings or barons that fairly littered the land. That had tended to be Morgause’s preferred method of keeping herself in style while maturing her plans. Morgana did not doubt that she could do the same thing and yet . . . Morgause had delighted in the power her magic and her body gave her over men. She had liked dancing them on her strings. She loved how stupid their lust made them. She reveled in how she made them complicit in their own destruction. Morgana had thought that she too might enjoy such games for it had been a great pleasure to take Uther’s love for her and then bludgeon him to despair with it. She could play the doting daughter, the concerned sister, the affectionate friend or the wise counselor with joy but seduction . . . She had used Agravaine’s lust for her but it had turned her stomach. Fortunately Agravaine had been so profoundly pathetic that she had had to do no more than smile at him. She did not think she could have let him touch her. Even as only a plan to humiliate him she could not have endured it. She did not have all of Morgause’s gifts. Remembering Morgause, Morgana sniffed and wiped her wet face on her wet sleeve. If things had gone as they should Morgause would be with her now, stroking her hair and helping her plan just what she would do with her defeated enemies.

Slowly Morgana drifted into sleep oblivious to the still spitting rain. Almost instantly she was pulled deep into a dream. She recognized the power in this dream and it warmed her a little. Her rest had been fitful lately but this sleep was drawing her down deep. Gradually a world coalesced around Morgana. It was Camelot castle and she felt a stab of homesickness that she ignored. She moved through the castle walking through the familiar corridors until she came to the door of what she remembered had been a storeroom. 

She went inside the room but it was not as she remembered. It was a huge room lit as bright as day with what must have been hundreds of torches and candles. There was a table in the center of the room. Its polished surfaced reflected the light so perfectly that it almost seemed to be its own source of light. The Table did not interest Morgana though. Her eye went instantly to the figure across the room from her.

She knew this figure was Arthur although the play of light had distorted his features a little. Slowly she began to walk towards him. She was aware of herself and also under the power of the dream. She was used to this. That was how much prophecy came to her. Sometimes it was quite unpleasant even frightening as the dream forced her to do all manner of things she would not have chosen to do. She hoped this dream would not be unpleasant.

Morgana dreamed often of Arthur. This wasn’t surprising. Her brother was much on her mind and if Morgana wanted to keep an eye on Camelot then it was hard to keep Arthur out. The dreams with Arthur were not always terrible. This offended Morgana on one level but since some of her dreams with Arthur were so terrible that anything else was preferable she didn’t complain.

She found herself hoping- futilely she knew- that this would be one of the pleasant dreams. The pleasant dreams weren’t like this. In the pleasant ones she could see Arthur clearly. Gwen was usually there too, strangely. Along with two other women who, though they were familiar, she couldn’t quite place. In those dreams nothing much happened. Arthur and one of the unknown women might talk for a while but that was all. Morgana hated Arthur but in some dreams the hate settled into something that allowed for other emotions- including peace.

But, enough time had passed now for Morgana to realize that this was not going to be one of the pleasant dreams. The already bright light suddenly intensified and then Emrys was there. Morgana never dreamed of Emrys and she would have liked to run but she could not. Emrys didn’t seem to notice her though. He stood at Arthur’s right hand. The room began to fill with people and Morgana didn’t like it. She was beginning to panic. There were too many people. She would be crushed. She wanted to escape but could not. But then everyone grew still. All eyes were on Arthur and Emrys. Morgana could not have done otherwise but follow their gaze. 

Arthur held Excalibur aloft. Morgana looked down quickly and saw that the Cup of Life was on the table in front of them. Arthur spoke but Morgana could not hear him. She wanted to but she couldn’t get around the table to be nearer. She tried and tried but the dream was ending. She knew it but fought desperately to hold on . . ..

Morgana opened her eyes. The rain had stopped but her face remained wet. She felt it. She felt it inside her. Arthur had done something- or Emrys had done something through Arthur. Morgana felt it and she wept.

Morgana became aware of footsteps. She ignored them.

“Lady Morgana?”

For several seconds Morgana remained where she was. There was so little reason to do anything. Still, after a moment the habit of pride reasserted itself. She stood up. Holding her head high she regarded the figure who had addressed her.

He stood tall- very tall, nearly seven feet. He was clad from boot to helm in brilliantly shining armor. The armor obscured his shape but he exuded physical power. Except that something wasn’t right.

“Show me your true shape if you would speak to me.” Morgana demanded.

Morgana heard laughter, higher and lighter than should come from such a large figure. Her vision blurred for a moment. When she could focus again she saw a winged creature smaller than her hand hovering before her. Morgana caught her breath but quickly resumed her placid disdain. She had never seen one of the Sidhe before but she would not let the experience disconcert her.

“Lady Morgana, I have come to invite you to the Faery Court.”

“I do not know what interest you have in me as I have none in you.”

“I would be grieved if I believed that, Lady. Come, feast with us, dance in dew and moonlight, meet our elders.”

“Why?”

“What is it you seek, Lady?” The Sidhe answered her question with one of his own. “What is your heart’s desire?”

“It doesn’t matter for I cannot have it.” Even magic has chosen him, Morgana thought dully, even magic.

“And so you will lie down in the dust and let your brother work his will on the world unchallenged?”

Heat burned Morgana’s cheeks. “What do you know about it?”

“I know that my enemy’s advantages can sometimes be turned to my benefit. I know that one who has claimed his heart’s desire is vulnerable as one denied it can never be. You believe yourself defeated and so you have been but this defeat opens the way to victories you might not otherwise have dreamed of. Will you come with me?”

Through her despair, Morgana experienced a spark of interest. Were the Sidhe enemies of Emrys? If so then they had interfered but little in his affairs. But immortals could afford to pick their time. Could they have a plan? And if they did what role did they imagine for Morgana? Whatever it was, there was nothing for her here. She gave a slight nod.

The Sidhe blurred and resumed the shape of the armored man. Morgana came to his side and the two began to walk. The mist rose up to claim them and they were gone.  
End


End file.
